by Laura Hopper
We take our smoothies and sit outside. We keep laughing about Peachy Keen and Big Banana Man. When the laughter subsides, we end up having a real conversation. He asks me about my family, and I’m entirely at ease talking about my parents’ current situation. He’s compassionate, telling me that his aunt and uncle got divorced and they were so mean and awful to each other during and after, which made it really rough on his cousins.
“You’re lucky your mom and dad are such good friends,” he reassures me.
“Yeah, I guess. It just seems to me that if they still like each other so much, why don’t they just stay together?”
“Well, did they tell you why they’re getting divorced?” he asks, with genuine interest.
“They said the magic is gone.”
“That sucks,” he says.
I shrug. He notices and seems curious.
“What’s that about? You don’t care if they’re hot for each other or not?” He smiles and patiently waits for me to respond.
“They’re fortysomething. How long do they really expect to see fireworks?”
“Point taken.” Luke leans toward me, still smiling. “Question for you: Have you ever been in love?”
Whoa! That came out of nowhere. He’s looking deep into my eyes, like he can see my soul. I have no choice but to answer honestly.
“No. I haven’t,” I say.
“Well, it’s not like I’m an expert on love and marriage,” he says, “but I can bet it’s a bummer to live with someone you’re not in love with.”
“Right.” I still can’t look away from his chocolate-brown eyes.
“I mean, I don’t know about you,” he says, “but I wouldn’t want that kind of marriage. Seems like it would pretty much suck.”
How is he so comfortable talking about such intimate things? I honestly never would have guessed that boys even thought about relationships, love, marriage, and the rest of it. And never, in a million years, did I think they would want to talk about it.
“Interesting,” I say. Wait, did I just say that out loud?
“What’s interesting?” he asks.
“Just that we’re having this conversation. I don’t usually talk to people about this kind of thing.”
“Me neither,” he says.
“You’re so accepting.”
“Well, we’ve had a bunch of talks about relationship stuff in my family,” he says. “My brother Jackson came out when he was a senior in high school. I was in eighth grade. Jackson was always my hero. Still is.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a big deal.”
“It was then. Not so much anymore. It’s pretty simple, actually. If he’s happy, I’m happy.”
“And is he happy?” I ask.
Luke takes the last sip of his smoothie and I can hear his straw scraping along the bottom of the cup.
“Yeah. He has a boyfriend. Brady. They’re hilarious.”
Luke is unbelievably easy to talk to. There are no lulls in our conversation, and I don’t feel like I have to come up with things to say. In addition to parents, we cover high school, track, college, music, and movies. We laugh about Family Guy episodes and failed science projects. He plays me his favorite Bob Marley song on his phone and I show him the scar on my hand from my attempt to bake a chocolate soufflé. I ask him about the braided leather bracelet and he tells me he bought it in Mexico and that he hasn’t taken it off since the trip.
“You’re different,” he says to me, a total non sequitur. Here we go—he has noticed that I’m nerdy and slightly awkward and not like the giggly, flirty girls he’s used to dating.
“How am I different?” I ask, bracing myself for what’s to come.
“You’re smart, and you have a lot to say. I really like talking to you.”
“Well, thanks,” I say. “I like talking to you, too. You’re wise. Like an old soul.”
“That’s so funny. My mom always calls me that,” he says.
He offers to drive me home, and when we finally get into his car, I hear my phone, from deep in my backpack, blasting the “Mamma Mia” ringtone, letting me know it’s none other than my mom. She’s used to returning from work and finding me safe at home after track, diligently doing my homework. I assure her that I’m not in somebody’s trunk and that I’ll be home shortly.
“Can I see that?” Luke reaches for my phone.
I hand it to him. He starts pressing buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting in all my information so you have no excuse not to call or text me.”
“I see. And when am I supposed to be doing all this calling and texting?” There’s that smile again, plastered across my face
“Whenever.”
The drive home is much too quick. It’s the first time I’ve ever wished to be caught in a horrible traffic jam. We pull up in front of my house and I am at a complete loss as to what I’m supposed to do next.
“Thanks again for my Peachy Keen. You should have let me pay for myself.” I reach for the door handle, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Can I ask you a question?” Once again, he looks right through me.
“Of course,” I say.
“Is this your first date?” Now I’m back in the same place I was before: staring into his eyes, feeling frighteningly exposed. It’s one thing to admit I’ve never been in love, but do I really have to confess that I’ve never been on a date before?
“Well, is this an official date?” I’m glad to have the opportunity to pose the question I’ve been asking myself all day.
“That depends. What makes a date official?” His whole face seems to be smiling.
I’m back in the hot seat. What am I supposed to say to that? I hesitate, more unsure of my words than ever before. “Um, I guess an official date is an occasion where two people agree to a plan—”
He interrupts me, “Any two people?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s usually two people who like each other, right?” he asks.
“Well, yes, but maybe they don’t know how the other one feels.”
“True.”
I decide to turn it around, put him on the spot for once. “So, Big Banana Man, how would you define a date?”
“Hmm.” He pauses for a moment and appears to be giving it a lot of thought. “I think it’s all about the kiss.”
Holy moly. My heartbeat is back to its circus act. “The kiss?”
“If there’s a kiss, it’s probably a date.”
I have no words. What could I possibly say to that? Then I realize I need no words because he’s leaning toward me. Slowly, slowly his face nears mine. Those full lips are slightly parted. Here we go.
I close my eyes and lean in. Our lips touch, softly at first, with a little peck. Then we kiss again, and this time we stay pressed together a little longer. He opens his mouth slightly, and I follow. I have never done this before and am terrified that I’m doing it wrong. I’m really not sure what to do with my tongue. His tongue ever so gently finds mine, and our two tongues do a little dance. I am lost in him, in his soft lips, his smooth tongue, his yummy smell. I quickly pick up his rhythm, and it’s much easier than I thought it would be. I could do this all day.
Finally, we pull apart and open our eyes. Instinctively, I let out a big, audible sigh. He chuckles.
“Guess this was a date,” I say. I lean forward, give him one little peck on those delicious lips, grab my stuff, and float into my house.
Chapter Eight
I’m not sure how I got from Luke’s car to my front porch. I really never felt my feet touch the ground. I guess that’s what people mean when they say they’re walking on air. I have the same peaceful, buoyant sensation when I walk through the front door, but it all comes to a crashing halt when I see my mom sitting on the striped love seat in the living room, a book in her lap.
“Hello there.”
I’ve been awakened from my reverie.
�
��Hi.”
“Who was that?” she asks, her voice light and curious.
“Who was what?” It’s not my intention to keep secrets from my mom; I just don’t quite know what to tell her about Luke. Moms tend to make something out of nothing, and this might still be nothing. For all I know, Luke has a date with someone else for dinner tonight. The general perception is that he’s very experienced. I don’t want my mom to think I have a boyfriend.
“The boy you were kissing in the Jeep.” She says it without any motherly judgment or pointed accusations. She has a little gleam in her eye, almost as if she’s excited about it as well.
“Oh. Him.” I suppose if I wanted to keep it under wraps, I probably shouldn’t have kissed him directly in front of my house under the street lamp.
Mom smiles. “Yeah, him.”
I smile back. It’s difficult not to. “Luke Hallstrom.”
“The cute one from track?” Funny that my mom knows exactly who he is. Even funnier that she thinks he’s cute. Maybe we have the same taste, or maybe Luke is just cute—objectively and empirically speaking.
“That would be the one.” I can’t stop smiling.
“You look happy,” she says.
“I think I am,” I admit.
“Tell me.”
Forget the idea about pretending that this might be nothing. I end up telling my mom the whole story, starting with the airplane and ending where she caught up with us in front of the house. Obviously, I leave out the details about his soft lips and heavenly scent. It feels so good to share with the one person in the world I know is rooting for me and only me. I don’t have to put any kind of spin on it or act like I’m not that into him. I’m utterly and absolutely on cloud nine, and my mother is right there with me.
It finally occurs to me that my mom and I have had this time to talk, and I haven’t been met with the pretend picture-perfect family dinner.
“Where’s Dad?”
Her face falls a little. She pauses.
“He’s out.”
So much for the grand gestures to keep things as normal as possible.
“When will he be home?”
The pause is even longer this time. “I’m not sure he’s coming home tonight.”
I just went from walking on air to hitting the ground . . . hard.
“Oh.”
“I think he’s going to dinner and a movie with Uncle Ed. He might just sleep at Ed’s.”
She looks intently at me, searching for signs of emotional tremors, tears, despondency. I feel surprised. Sad, but not sad enough to cry. Maybe it’s good that there was some time between the initial news and the first real signs of separation. Maybe it’s good that I had a few days to wonder when it’s going kick in. Maybe I’m sort of ready. Maybe not.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. I think I’m telling the truth. It’s nearly impossible to tell with so many emotions coursing through my veins. I’ve always been the kid who had no answer when someone asked, “What’s new?” Things have been stable and consistent for as long as I can remember. I’ve always lived in San Diego; in fact, I’ve lived in the same house since I was six. My parents have had the same jobs for too many years to count. My friends have remained largely the same. I’ve never been in love. And besides some forgettable girl drama in seventh grade, I’ve had very few real disappointments in my life. My grandmother did pass away two years ago. But she lived in Virginia and was sick for many years, so by the time she died, we were all emotionally prepared.
Now, in the last twenty minutes, I have experienced the high of having my first kiss with a beautiful boy, and the low of returning home to discover that my father is out. The questions start spinning through my brain. Is he really with Uncle Ed? Is there a woman involved? Are he and Ed on a double date?
I hear my cell phone ringing from my bag on the floor where I dropped my stuff. I can’t imagine anyone I want to talk to right now. Even Luke.
“You don’t want to get that?” Mom asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Might be Dad.” Mom clearly wants me to check my phone, so I do. It’s Dad.
“It’s him,” I say.
“I think you should talk to him,” she says, taking her book and walking out of the room to give me some privacy.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, answering the phone.
“Hi, kid.” His voice is a little too chipper. Is that because he’s trying to keep our conversation light and happy? Or because he’s thrilled to be out . . . most likely on a date . . . with a woman . . . who isn’t my mother?
“You home yet?” he wants to know.
“Yep.”
His voice loses its perkiness. “I won’t be home tonight.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry I’ll miss dinner with you. I wanted to talk to you this morning, but there wasn’t time. I love you so much.” He sounds sincere and slightly more gloomy than when I answered the phone. I know he loves me. I know our family dinners are important to him. Maybe he is suffering, too.
“I love you, too, Dad.”
“Can we go out to dinner Friday night?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Great.” He seems genuinely happy. “Anywhere you want.”
“Sushi?” Sushi isn’t my dad’s favorite, but he knows I love it, so every once in a while he surrenders and comes with us to our favorite little Japanese restaurant in La Jolla.
“All the sushi you can eat,” he promises. “Love you, kid.”
“Love you back.” I hang up the phone and walk into the kitchen, where my mom is sitting at the table pouring honey into two mugs of chamomile tea. I join her and add a little extra honey to mine.
“We’re going to get through this,” she assures me. Her eyes look a little misty.
“I know.” And I do know. But does she?
When they first told me the news, I only thought of myself. I wondered how this change would affect me, my life, my schedule, my junior year. But hearing my dad’s voice tonight and seeing my mom’s sad eyes makes me acutely aware that I’m not the only one hurting. I am reminded of Luke’s words, and I realize that I need to think of my parents as people, human beings with feelings. Now I’m looking at my mom and I see a woman dealing with real sadness. And yet, I can tell that her primary concern is that I’m okay. I think I’m okay. I hope she is.
Chapter Nine
I never thought I’d be this psyched to be in the locker room, changing for a workout. The school day was endless. Each period crawled by while I watched the clock, willing the minutes to pass so I could walk through the hallway to the next class, hoping for a chance encounter with Luke. I saw him from afar at lunch. I was in line buying a blueberry muffin while he was entering the cafeteria with his friend Miles. We smiled at each other as though we shared the best secret ever. Just that smile, that connection across lunch trays, hairnets, and rowdy students, was all I needed to survive until three o’clock. It was a reminder that I’m not dreaming or embellishing or out of my mind.
I have not discussed any of the Luke stuff with Brett. I want to avoid the subject with him, so I told Brett I didn’t need a ride to school this morning. I know Brett well enough to predict that he won’t be in favor of whatever it is that is brewing between me and Luke. Brett tends to be extremely critical. He often makes derogatory, snarky comments about sporty boys or vapid girls. He makes me laugh even though he’s sometimes a little harsh. But I don’t want to hear anything negative about Luke. I’ll tell Brett about Luke when I need to, when and if it’s clear there’s really something to tell. A smoothie and a kiss is not a big enough something.
Naturally, Sloan and Danielle wanted to know every gory detail about the smoothie date. They wanted to FaceTime last night, but I wasn’t much in the mood to talk given the whole situation with my parents. The girls bombarded me this morning in the parking lot after my mom dropped me off. I want to share with them, but I’m afraid of jinxing whatever is developin
g with Luke. I still worry that it will just evaporate like it never happened at all.
What if Sloan opens her mouth about it, and it gets back to Luke that I’m yammering on as if we have the greatest romance since Marge and Homer Simpson? That would be mortifying. So I merely said we went to get smoothies and hung out, and then he drove me home. I admitted that I think he’s really cute, but that’s basically all I would confess. I think they can tell I’m keeping things under wraps. Danielle backed off, but Sloan seemed annoyed.
As best friends, we typically know what the others are doing every minute of every day. If we’re not together, we’re in touch on our phones, or we’re aware of one another’s schedules. They know when I’m at track, Sloan and I know when Danielle is at dance, and everyone knows that Sloan used to stop at Starbucks every day before school until she made a New Year’s resolution to cut out caffeine.
I’m almost ready to head out to the track. I actually use a brush to pull my hair into a smooth ponytail. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever brought a hairbrush to school, including picture days. What’s next? Mascara? Nail polish? Lucy Koch, another junior girl on the track team, is arranging her breasts in her skin-tight tank top. I watch to see if she’s going to cover up with a T-shirt. Nope. Off she goes, out the door, with her boobs on display. I look back in the mirror. In my mind’s eye, I still look like a twelve-year-old girl. I wonder what Luke sees when he looks at me.
When I get to the track, Luke is at the long jump pit with Miles and a senior girl named Ella. Ella is one of the best athletes at school. She’s the number one seed on girls’ varsity tennis and the fastest sprinter on the track team. She also happens to have the most awesome body in school. Brett says her ass is perfection. Ella leans on Luke’s shoulder as she pulls one heel to her butt in a quad stretch. Luke feigns like he’s going to walk away, which, just as he seems to have planned, makes Ella lose her balance. He catches her arm to keep her from falling and they both laugh. It’s a blatantly flirtatious encounter, and witnessing it makes me feel uncomfortable, and a little stupid. Why would I think Luke and I could be something when he has opportunities like these at every turn?