The Romantics

by Leah Konen

  Gael didn’t even have time to take Cara aside and explain the situation because that’s when Anika looked past the hostess and caught his eyes.

  “Oh,” she said, and Mason looked up then, too.

  For a second, she and Mason just stood there, staring at him and Cara.

  Without even thinking, Gael reached for Cara’s hand and held it. Well, grabbed it.

  Anika’s face tightened, and Mason grinned.

  “Look, I’m not going to seat you,” the hostess said, wholly unaware of what was going on.

  “Sure, got it,” Anika said quickly, then walked out the door. Mason gave Gael a goofy wink before he made his exit.

  Gael felt Cara tense up. He let her hand go.

  He watched as the door closed behind Mason, and then they left the restaurant, too.

  Luckily, by the time they got outside, Anika and Mason were well down the street, backs toward them.

  Cara crossed her arms. “What in the world was that about?”

  Gael bit at his lip and stole another glance toward Anika and Mason. They were far down Franklin, practically out of sight. Anika was walking pretty fast.

  “Uh-uhm.”

  He turned back to Cara. “I’m sorry. That was my ex. I don’t really have an excuse. I guess I just wanted to show her that I wasn’t some pathetic guy who was still pining over her or something. I wanted to show her that I had found someone really cool.”

  (This is what I whispered in Cara’s ear: How dare he use you to make her jealous? Ditch him. He doesn’t deserve you!)

  But it didn’t work because Cara knew she’d done the same thing herself at the basketball game.

  “Don’t do it again,” she said firmly. “Nothing happens until November, and if it does, it is not to make an ex jealous, okay?”

  Gael nodded vigorously. “Okay.”

  Cara smiled.

  (I internally cursed Cara’s forgiving nature, even though it was one of the most wonderful things about her.)

  “All right then, I should get back to my dorm. I’ll walk from here.” She held her hand up in protest. “Don’t object.”

  “You sure?”

  “I said, don’t object,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “But if you’re down, do you want to do Halloween together? I’ve never been here for the big Franklin Street thing, and I hear it’s awesome.”

  Gael hesitated. Halloween was the night before November. Was it possible that this would be their first real date?

  But immediately he cursed himself for his hesitation. What in the world was he waiting for?

  His face broke into an easy smile. “For sure.”

  familial advice: dad edition

  Gael got back to his dad’s apartment just after 10:00 that night.

  “How was the movie?” his dad asked, practically pouncing on him as soon as he was inside.

  Gael tossed his keys onto the counter. “It was good. Is Piper up?”

  He shook his head. “She was tired after a big meal. I made pot roast.”

  Gael raised his eyebrows in mock appreciation. “Great,” he said dismissively. “Sad I missed it.”

  He pushed past his dad in the tiny hallway and hung his jacket on one of the crappy dining chairs that looked like it came straight from a rando on Craigslist.

  His dad followed him, not that there was much of a way not to follow him in such a tiny apartment. A history documentary was playing at low volume on the TV. “You know it’s the second time you’ve missed Friday dinner,” he said.

  Gael turned to face him. “Is that a problem? You said it was fine last week.”

  His dad shrugged. “It’s not a problem, per se, but is it going to be a new habit?”

  “I don’t know,” Gael snapped. “I haven’t worked out all my habits now that I have to live at two houses. Sorry.”

  His dad walked up to the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV off. “Is everything from now on always going to be a fight about me and your mom?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gael said. “Is it?” Gael knew he was being difficult, but he didn’t exactly care.

  (Before you get too frustrated with Gael, let me just tell you that, unless you’ve been through it personally, you have no idea how gut-wrenching divorce is. The heart feels like it would after a death, but the head can see that no one has died, that life is still going on—it’s a unique grieving process, one that shouldn’t be taken lightly. One that even I have trouble with sometimes, this situation being one of them . . .)

  “Fine,” his dad said. “But if you’re going to skip out on dinner, can you at least tell me who you’re hanging out with?”

  Gael shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”

  “A girl?” his dad teased.

  Gael felt his face go hot.

  “I knew it,” his dad said with a smirk. He took a seat on the couch. “Are you worried you’re moving a little quickly? You seem a bit nervous.”

  Gael mentally cursed his dad for being so damn touchy-feely and perceptive. Couldn’t he be obsessed with sports and wings like other dads, instead of discussing emotions? Mason’s dad had taken him to Hooters for his sixteenth birthday. Gael’s had bought him The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama and What Color Is Your Parachute? For Teens.

  (In truth, Gael had always liked this about his dad. At Mason’s birthday, he’d felt uncomfortable sitting in Hooters trying to focus on wings while Mason’s dad ogled and flirted with every waitress. But it only made sense that Gael couldn’t remember all that right at this moment.)

  “I really don’t need dating advice from you, of all people.”

  His dad looked taken aback by that—his head whipped back a little, his eyebrows scrunched up—but he paused, adjusted himself on the couch, took a deep breath, and didn’t pursue it. “I’m just saying, you want to get to know a girl, and more than just how she looks in a dress, you know what I mean? When I met your mom, all I could think was how smart she was, how much she got me, how much she challenged me. Our philosophy professor even said we were two of his most passionate students—”

  “I’ve heard this story a million times,” Gael protested, his cheeks getting even hotter with anger. “Mom raised her hand to talk and you interrupted her. You got into an intellectually rigorous debate about your various philosophies, the professor goading you on. From that day forward, you started sitting next to each other in class. The rest is history. Blah blah blah.”

  He had heard the story a million times. But he’d felt little more than typical teen-son annoyance about it until now. Because as of a few months ago, blah blah blah no longer resulted in a happy ending.

  His dad frowned. “I’m just offering advice.”

  Gael scoffed. He couldn’t hold back his anger any longer. “Well, have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want advice about you and Mom? We all know how well that turned out!”

  Gael walked briskly to his room, which was only about four feet from the living room. He didn’t even get to enjoy the luxury of slamming the door because he didn’t want to wake Piper.

  This apartment sucked, Gael thought bitterly. And his parents’ breakup sucked, too.

  And his dad going about like everything was fine? Well, that sucked most of all.

  how gael’s parents actually met

  Just wanted to step in and clarify a couple of things:

  It doesn’t much matter for the purposes of our story, but I think it’s worth noting here that while the theme of his dad’s advice was sound, not only was it a little awkward to bring up this story so soon after the split, but his version of the Arthur-meets-Angela story was, well, a little off the mark.

  Replace your picture of a philosophy lecture hall with a seedy dive bar selling twenty-five-cent shots.

  Angela was there with a girlfriend, who was interested in Arthur’s roommate. After said roommate bought tequila shots for the group, Angela and Arthur did, indeed, realize they were in the same philosoph
y class, though they’d never even sat near each other before, much less exchanged ideas.

  While their respective friends began to make out in front of the pool table, Arthur ordered two more tequila shots, and from there, the night kind of devolved . . .

  At one point, Angela slipped off her stool and Arthur caught her. His act of chivalry didn’t stop her from screaming, “Of course Nietzsche was a misogynist!” about three seconds later. And “if you think he’s not, maybe you’re a misogynist!” about three seconds after that.

  She then challenged him to a game of pool, and she completely schooled him, even though she had to push her making-out friends out of the way each time she took a shot.

  Inspired by her victory, Arthur ordered another round of celebratory shots. When Angela continued to go on about Kierkegaard, he climbed onto the barstool and shouted to anyone who would listen: “Soren Kierkegaard was the worst philosopher of all time!”

  That’s when the other patrons started to complain about the “lunatics screaming about Kierkegaard.”

  And that’s when the bartender, not the professor, said, “You two are just about the most passionate philosophy students I’ve ever met. Now get the hell out.”

  And the rest is history, as Gael so exasperatedly put it.

  Just wanted to set the record straight on that one.

  scream queen

  Gael woke to the sound of cracking eggs and the smell of frying bacon. Here goes another round at family bonding, he thought bitterly.

  He hadn’t slept well. He wanted to blame the hard mattress at his dad’s place, which wasn’t half as good as the one at home, but he also knew that at least part of it was due to the fight he’d had with his dad. But whose fault was that?

  Gael got out of bed and threw on jeans and a T-shirt.

  There was something else bothering him, too. Smaller, but important just the same. He’d texted Sammy last night, asking if she’d ended up seeing the Wes Anderson movie or not, eager to talk about it with her if she, for some reason, still had without him, but she hadn’t responded.

  He wondered if he’d offended her when he’d said no to the movie. He wondered if he’d somehow messed up their newfound friendship.

  He wondered, ever so briefly, what it would be like if he and Sammy weren’t friends. If they were actually something more . . .

  Bacon crackled in the background and the smell accosted him. He pulled on his Chucks and tossed his phone into his pocket. He needed to get out of this stale apartment and get some air.

  “Hey, sleepyhead!” his dad called as he walked past the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” Piper pouted. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  “I need a walk,” Gael mumbled. “Be back later. Don’t wait for me.”

  Before they could protest, before he could fully take in the disappointed look on Piper’s face or the concerned one on his dad’s, Gael headed out the door and pulled it firmly shut behind him.

  His dad’s apartment complex was on the edge of Chapel Hill and Durham. Close to a big highway and a Walmart and a bunch of other stupid shit that he didn’t really want any part in. It wasn’t like his real home, where he could walk around, head to Franklin, even explore campus if he needed to get out of the house.

  There was nowhere really to go but here.

  Nevertheless, the crisp fall air felt good, and he headed down the concrete steps to the parking lot.

  His eyes caught the COEXIST sticker on the bumper of his dad’s hatchback.

  Anika had once joked that it was always the assholes who had those stickers. He’d argued with her about that, defending his dad.

  Now he wondered if she had been right.

  He headed right, down the boring concrete sidewalk, parking lot on one side, fake-looking grass and stones and stupid landscaping on another. Brick building after building stretched before him. They all looked the same. Still, he figured circling the complex a couple of times was better than sitting in the tiny apartment and waiting to snap.

  He was about halfway around when his eyes caught a bright orange flyer taped to a lamppost.

  SILVER SCREEN SCREAMS

  An exploration of the horror genre—and Americans’ deep

  affinity for it—from the 1920s until now.

  Monday, October 29, 7 P.M.

  Murphey Hall

  Horror, he thought. Sammy’s favorite. And at UNC, no less.

  It was just the thing to make it up to her. She’d been a good friend to him over the last couple of weeks, and he didn’t want to lose that, no matter what happened with Cara.

  And the flyer, being all the way out here, so far from campus. It was strange, he thought. Almost like he was supposed to see it for one reason or another.

  (Strange, indeed, Gael. Strange, indeed. *strokes imaginary goatee maniacally*)

  Before he could stop himself, he took out his phone and called Sammy Sutton.

  fifth period, third degree

  On Monday in chemistry, Mason was again early, but he didn’t have an extra-credit project with him this time. He was sitting back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs, hands resting on the desk, beaming.

  Mason leaned forward in his chair as soon as Gael threw his backpack down, the legs making a powerful thunk.

  “So who was that?” Mason asked gleefully.

  Gael felt himself blush. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” Mason said.

  Gael shrugged. “She’s just a friend.”

  “Right,” Mason said. “A friend who you go out to dinner with on Friday night and hold hands with.”

  Gael bit his lip and lowered his voice as more people shuffled into class. “I actually met her on my birthday after I left the restaurant, but she’s just out of a relationship, too, and she thought we should just be friends until November.”

  “November’s just around the corner,” Mason said, moving his eyebrows up and down comically.

  Gael took a deep breath. “I know.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you, dude. And Anika is, too, even if she was a little awkward.” Mason’s face looked a little hesitant, but Gael didn’t ask why. It seemed safer to not talk about Anika right now. Well, not too much, at least.

  “I gotta say, though,” Mason said, just as their teacher, Mrs. Ellison, came in. “I don’t know why, but I thought you and Sammy were going to end up together.”

  Gael blushed again.

  And he felt his heart beat a tiny bit quicker at the prospect of seeing Sammy that night.

  But Mrs. Ellison quickly began her lesson, so he didn’t have time to ask Mason why he said it. All he could do was pretend to pay attention to chemistry and try not to get ahead of himself.

  They were friends. That was it.

  It was exactly what he wanted from her.

  And even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, he was pretty sure that that’s what she wanted, at least.

  it wouldn’t be a good love story without at least one scene in the rain

  On monday night, Gael found himself sitting in a hard chair in a dusty lecture hall, watching the ubiquitous vomit clip from The Exorcist, and pretending not to obsess about Mason’s offhand statement (or potential truth-bomb?) while Sammy sat straight up in her chair so she didn’t miss a thing.

  The professor rambled on about absurdist horror and the heyday that was the seventies and early eighties as he cued up clips from Re-Animator, a psychedelic Japanese flick called House, and, of course, Poltergeist (which Gael had never found scary at all).

  It all would have been very enlightening and thrilling if he hadn’t spent most of the lecture trying to remind himself that, no matter what Mason had said, he was well on his way to dating Cara. Halloween was in two days. November 1 was in three. Now was not the time to be wondering about his romance potential with his little sister’s babysitter.

  Not to mention with someone who had become a good friend.

  He’d lost his friendship w
ith Anika to dating. He didn’t want that to happen with Sammy, too.

  The professor finished up with a clip from Phantasm, and then the lights flickered on and people shuffled out.

  Sammy grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She was wearing a vintage-y dress with polka dots, green tights, and a denim jacket. He couldn’t help but think that she looked great.

  “So awesome, right?” she asked. “I mean, the way he connected seventies horror to German Expressionism? It seemed so obvious once he said it, but I never thought of it that way before. Totally makes me want to rewatch all those slasher films.”

  Quite frankly, none of it sounded very obvious to Gael, but it didn’t matter. He liked the way she got so excited about nerdy things.

  “Very cool,” he said, as he followed her out of the lecture hall and into the crisp fall evening. The lamplight cast an eerie glow over the UNC lower quad, and he zipped his jacket up all the way to block the wind. It was one of those fall days that feels like winter, that reminded you of what was to come.

  Gael wondered where his life would be by the time winter arrived. Would he and Cara be properly in a relationship by then? Would they be sharing nachos and hunting for non-“weird” movies to potentially enjoy together?

  A Christian campus group had set up a stand and was handing out hot chocolate, and Sammy ran ahead and grabbed two cups without even needing to ask if Gael wanted some. (I may have urged the organizer to plop her table right outside Murphey Hall.) When she came back, her cheeks were strawberry red and the lidless cups were steaming.

  “For you, good sir,” she said, giving a mock curtsy.

  “Thanks.” Gael nodded up the path. “Which way are you going?”

  Sammy glanced back behind them. “I should probably get back to my dorm, but I’ll walk as far as Franklin with you. I love campus at night.”

  So the two of them followed the brick pathway of the lower quad, walking slowly while they waited for the hot chocolate to cool.