by Blake Nelson
10
On graduation day, my brother won numerous honors and awards. He also gave one of the commencement speeches for our high school. Standing at the podium, he talked about looking forward, staying true to your ideals, contributing something to society. I couldn’t imagine what my brother would actually contribute to society. He’d take his fair share from society, that was for sure. But whatever. The speech sounded good. Everyone clapped.
My father had a big party in our backyard afterward. There were caterers and a tent. Since my brother’s friends tended to be as boring as he was, it was a pretty dull affair. There was Russell’s best friend, David Stiller, who was going to Stanford and was a cross-country runner. And his uptight friend Patricia, who was going to be a heart surgeon. And Hassad, who already wanted to be a banker.
As the party wound down, Claude stopped by. He came in the backyard, said hi to my parents, then we walked out to the driveway.
“What’s going on with you and Grace?” he asked me. Obviously Hanna had told him to talk to me.
I shrugged. “Seems like she’s not really into it anymore.”
“Are you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, she’s great and everything.”
“Hanna said you guys were probably going to break up,” said Claude.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Claude squinted in the sun. “You had a good run.”
“Yeah. It’s probably time.”
“You should do it soon,” said Claude. “Get it over with. So you’re free for the summer. And her, too.”
I nodded. I knew he was right.
“What about you and Hanna?” I asked. “What are you guys doing for the summer?”
“We’re gonna be apart for most of it. She’s teaching theater at a summer camp in July. And then she’s going to Norway with her parents.”
“And you’re playing tennis,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ve got this new coach. We’re doing all the tournaments. Seattle, Boise, California.”
“California,” I said, shaking my head. California had all the best tennis players.
“Yeah, that won’t be fun,” said Claude. “But this coach is all about the quality competition.”
I nodded.
Claude looked down the street. “And Hanna’s still giving me shit about Petra. If you can believe that.”
“What’s her problem?”
“She’s always gotta have something going on. Something to battle over.”
“Huh.”
“It’s ridiculous,” said Claude, kicking a rock into the street. “But you know what? I like Petra. I’m not going to shut her out of my life.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing this summer?” he asked me.
“My mom got me a job at the Garden Center. Watering the plants and stuff.”
“That’s cool.”
“I’ll make some money.”
“Money’s cool.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll see.”
“All right,” said Claude. “I gotta roll. Gotta go practice the backhand.”
“Good luck in California.”
“Good luck watering the plants.”
• • •
Despite Claude’s encouragement, I still couldn’t figure out how to break up with Grace. Two weeks into the summer we were still together. When Logan had his first pool party, he invited the two of us as a couple. As I drove my mom’s car to Grace’s house, I wondered if this would be the night we would finally end it.
I picked up Grace and we drove to Logan’s. It was nice out, warm. We had the car windows down. We made small talk. The vibe wasn’t terrible between us. But it wasn’t good, either.
Things were more comfortable once we got there. Petra handed Grace a Bud Light and dragged her off. I sat by the pool with Logan and some of the guys. Claude was in Seattle playing his first big tournament of the summer. We always missed him when he was gone. Nothing was quite as fun without him.
Later, when the sun went down, it got cold. Logan told me I could borrow a hoodie, so I went upstairs to his room. I was looking through his drawers when someone knocked on the open door.
“Hello?” said Hanna.
“Hey,” I said, still digging through Logan’s sweatshirt collection.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting a hoodie.”
“Yeah, it’s kinda cold out . . .”
I found a hoodie and unfolded it. It looked like it might fit.
“I’m sort of cold too,” she said, coming into the room with her beer. “Is there anything that would fit me?”
I found a sweatshirt that was a medium and handed it to her.
She put it on over her T-shirt and bikini bottoms. I put on one too. It was a large.
“I couldn’t help noticing something, Gavin,” said Hanna, pulling her hair through the neck hole.
I felt a tingle of excitement when Hanna said my name.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You and Grace.”
I went to Logan’s mirror and pulled my hoodie on. “What about us?”
Hanna came over to the mirror too. She stood beside me, close enough that our arms touched.
“I don’t think she’s happy,” said Hanna.
I looked at her once in the mirror.
“Do you think it might be time for you guys to move on?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “It probably is.”
“I know she loves you. And I know you love her. . . .”
I nodded that this was true.
“Have you guys had sex?” asked Hanna.
She must have known we hadn’t. Grace was one of her best friends. But I shook my head no.
“Hmmmm,” she said. “Well, that’s probably for the best. In terms of not breaking each other’s hearts too bad.”
“I know,” I said. “We should break up. I’m just not sure how to do it.”
Hanna smiled at that. “Of course you don’t. Grace is your first girlfriend. You’ve never done it before!”
I nodded. I was embarrassed in a way, but I was also enjoying this private conversation with beautiful Hanna. It was rare that a person got Hanna’s full attention. I certainly had never had it. Not like this.
She turned toward me and gripped the front of my hoodie. She gently tugged me from side to side in a teasing way. “It’s hard to break up,” she said. “I know. And even though you still love someone, even though you’ll probably always love them, you still have to do it. If it’s time. It’s not good to drag things out.”
Tears came into my eyes. Partly because I was about to lose Grace forever. But also because Hanna was so close to me. She was touching me. The brightness of her presence, the glow of her warmth: It melted you instantly. There was no defense against it.
“I know it’s hard,” murmured Hanna, gazing up into my face. “But when the time comes . . .”
I nodded. Hanna’s forehead was about eight inches from my nose. I could smell her. She smelled of chlorine, of shampoo, of herself.
“You think I should do it tonight?” I said.
She nodded.
When I didn’t say anything, she reached down and took my hand in both of hers. “What is it, Gavin? Are you worried you won’t find someone else?”
“No,” I said.
“Because I happen to know a lot of girls who like you.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course,” she said, grinning. “Sooo many girls think you’re cute. They tell me . . .”
I knew then that something was going to happen. The sensation was one of rolling down a hill, of gathering speed, slowly at first and then not so slowly.
“Oh, Gavin . . . ,” purred Hanna. She nestled up closer. The tips of her breasts pressed into my chest. I could feel the softness of them. “Do you have any idea how cute you are?” She touched my chin with her forefinger. “Do you have any idea at all?”
This was not g
ood. And I knew it. But Hanna, oh my God, to be near her, to be touched by her, to breathe her. To have those gorgeous green eyes on you, holding you, enticing you, inviting you to do things you knew you shouldn’t but would be an idiot not to. I knew what I was about to do. And I knew what I would lose if I did it. But I still went ahead. I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her.
She was shocked, of course. Or she pretended to be. But Hanna was not a person who shrank from a challenge. She kissed me right back. She was no priss. There was a single unforgettable moment of pure connection, of perfect equality, of love almost. Then it turned into something else: a test, a trial run, an experiment. Hanna was trying me on for size. She was checking me out. She was doing this because why not? She was young. Why shouldn’t she sample what was available to her?
But oh, the taste of her. The velvety texture of her tongue and mouth. The perfect warmth and softness of her body as I pressed her closer to me. My brain swam in my skull. I felt like I was in a different world, a different universe.
And then, from behind me, I heard the faint whisper of another female voice: “Oh no.”
That was Grace.
And then a louder gasp. And a different voice: “OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING!?”
That was Petra.
The two of them were standing in the doorway. They had come looking for us. And they had found us.
11
Needless to say, Grace and I broke up that night. Our last moments as a couple were spent in Logan’s driveway, in the dark, both of us damp and cold in our bathing suits.
“I’m so sorry,” I pleaded.
“Don’t even say that!” she cried.
“I still love you.”
“Don’t say that, either!”
Hanna had hurried away to call Claude and confess to him what she’d done. Petra had slunk off to text everyone else what had happened.
In the driveway, Grace was trying to be pissed off. She was trying to do what Hanna would do in that situation. But mostly she was stunned. And sad. We both were. We both cried in the darkness of the driveway. Our first experience of completely sharing ourselves with another person had come to an end. All those doors, so newly opened, would now be shut again.
• • •
To her credit, Hanna never lied about what happened. It was her fault, she told people. She had flirted with me because she was sick of Claude talking to Petra on the phone at all hours of the night. The cause of the incident was Hanna’s jealousy. “It’s my worst trait,” she told people.
Because of her honesty, Hanna and Claude would eventually survive the incident. After some deep, intense conversations, both of them vowed that they would provoke the other no further. Claude would stop talking to Petra. And Hanna would keep her hands (and lips) to herself. And so everything worked out in the end: Grace was free to enjoy her summer without me. Hanna and Claude continued together, their love even stronger for having been tested in this way.
As for me, I drove home alone that night, the smell of Hanna still lingering on my body. I thought about her when I went to bed. A lot of things had happened that night. I didn’t know how to order them in my head.
I woke up the next morning and went to work at the Garden Center. I put on my apron and rubber boots and began my daily ritual of hosing down the asphalt and watering the plants. I hadn’t talked to Claude yet. I would have to call him, of course. I was not looking forward to that.
During my lunch break, I called his cell. He was still in Seattle that day, playing the Washington State Regionals. He was either at his hotel, or playing a match. He didn’t answer.
I tried not to worry about it. If anyone would understand, he would. Hanna was so alluring. Who could resist her? Not me. Not anyone. And it was really just a joke anyway, one of Hanna’s ironic flirtations. Hanna didn’t like me. So I’d leaned in and kissed her for a few seconds? It was like playing spin the bottle. We were drunk. It was stupid high school stuff.
Or was it?
I called Claude again at two. He was still not answering. It probably was a big deal. Shit. I began to seriously worry.
I called later that afternoon. It was now sinking in, the seriousness of the situation. I’d made out with my best friend’s girlfriend. Jesus. What was I thinking? I was going to lose my best friend. And possibly more than that.
When I finished my shift, I sat in my car and called his number every two minutes. Finally it didn’t go to voice mail. “What?” snapped Claude.
“Claude!” I said.
“What do you want?”
“Listen,” I said, my voice shaking. “This thing with Hanna. I’m so sorry. It was a terrible mistake.”
“Yeah, I would say so.”
“It was a joke. Really. I was drunk. I don’t even know what happened.”
“You made out with my girlfriend. That’s what happened.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t like it sounds. Claude, seriously, I’m sitting here, and I honestly can’t believe it happened.”
“Neither can I.”
It went on like that. Me making excuses, trying to explain. Claude snapping back. Then he hung up.
I sat there, holding my phone in my lap, staring numbly out my car window. Claude was my best friend. And I had made out with his girlfriend. How could I have done that?
• • •
Days passed. I was afraid to call anyone. At work, I would look at my phone. Who could I talk to about this? Who could I explain myself to? Logan? One of the other guys? They wouldn’t want to talk to me.
I went home after work. I watched TV with my mom. I would check my phone, thinking someone might call, someone might want to check in. But nobody called. Nobody wanted anything to do with me.
A week passed. Finally, I got up my courage and called Logan. When he didn’t answer, I left a message. I did this several times. Then, finally, he called me back.
“Bro, you fucked up,” he said.
“I know I fucked up.”
“I mean, you really fucked up.”
“I know I did,” I said, my voice shaking. “You don’t think I know?”
“I mean, I get it,” he said. “I understand. Hanna’s Hanna. But Claude’s your best friend.”
“I know. I know.”
“And now it’s like, you’re so in the wrong, how can anyone forgive you?”
“It’s true, I know. But what am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to talk to?”
“It can’t be me,” said Logan. “Not for a while, anyway. Claude’s my friend too. I can’t act like nothing happened.”
“So we can’t hang out?” I asked.
“Sorry, bro.”
“But for how long?”
“How long?” said Logan. “I don’t know. A while.”
“How long is that?”
“A month?”
“A month?” I said. “But that’s half the summer!”
“Hey, you did this to yourself.”
“A couple weeks. That’s enough. Come on. I lost my girlfriend. I don’t have tennis. I don’t have anything.”
Logan sighed. “Okay, a couple weeks.”
“All right,” I said with relief. “A couple weeks. Thanks. Thank you.”
So that’s what happened. Out of loyalty to Claude, Logan didn’t talk to me for the rest of June and part of July. And nobody else did either. What could I do? This was my punishment.
So I worked. I volunteered for extra shifts. I read a paperback about a serial killer that someone left in the storage room at the Garden Center. At night I drove in the hills or down by the river. I went to the big bookstore downtown and looked at photography books of World War II or rock stars or old movie actors I’d never heard of. Which was fun in a way. But not as fun as hanging out with my friends.
• • •
And then one day Antoinette came to the Garden Center. She was with her mother, who bought some plants. Antoinette stayed in the car. She was reading something on her phon
e. She had an even weirder haircut now. It was short and round, almost bowl shaped. It made her look like a nun.
I was in my apron and rubber boots, hosing down the parking lot. She hadn’t seen me yet. She probably didn’t know I worked there. I came closer. I blasted the asphalt in front of her door just enough to bounce a few drops through her open window.
“What the—??!!” she said, reaching for the window button. But her mom had the car keys. She couldn’t roll it up. That’s when she looked out and saw it was me.
“I should have known,” she said. “If you get my phone wet . . .”
“Sorry,” I said.
I moved away and sprayed the asphalt in the opposite direction. She went back to her phone. Then she stopped and looked at me.
“Nice apron,” she said.
“Nice haircut,” I said back. “You look like a nun.”
She stared at me for a moment. I kept spraying.
“I heard you and Grace broke up,” she said.
“Yup.”
“I hope you learned something,” said Antoinette, looking back at her phone.
“What would I have learned?”
“I don’t know. That boring people are boring?”
“She wasn’t boring.”
“Not to you she wasn’t.”
I blasted a gum wrapper with my hose and guided it into the gutter.
“What about you?” I asked. “How’s Bennett?”
“He’s okay,” she said from the car.
“Me and Claude bought weed from him once.”
“That’s what he said,” said Antoinette. “He said you were assholes.”
“We were,” I said.
She watched me spray a crate of flowers.
At that point the manager yelled at me from inside the nursery. I dropped my hose and hurried in. “Help Mrs. Renwick with these plants,” he told me.
There were two big potted plants. I picked the first one up and lugged it to the parking lot. Antoinette got out of the SUV to watch. She didn’t help. Her mother, who had no idea who I was, or that I knew Antoinette, opened the back door. “Careful with the top,” she said. I struggled to get the heavy plant inside the car.
I went back and brought the other one out. I wrestled it into the car as well. Mrs. Renwick began talking to someone on her phone, so it was just me and Antoinette standing there when I got the door closed.