Two-Way Street

by Lauren Barnholdt

  “He’s ordering appetizers,” Courtney says, as if she’s reading my mind. She’s wearing a black skirt and a long-sleeved pink shirt, and when she leans in close to me, I can see the black bra she’s wearing underneath it. Despite all the stress, I feel myself starting to get turned on.

  The waiter turns to me and asks me in a thick Greek accent what I’d like. I order the souvlaki since Courtney recommended it, and since she said it, I already know how to pronounce it.

  “Salad?” the waiter asks, smiling. He’s about twenty-two and he looks like he’s in pretty good shape, but I know I could take him. If it came down to that.

  “Yes, please,” I say, figuring salad is safe. Salad is good. Salad is just lettuce. With dressing. Although maybe it’s some kind of funky Greek salad. Even so, Greek lettuce is better than some unknown shit. I’ve never thought of myself as a picky eater before, but now I realize it’s basically because I subsist on hamburgers and pizza most of the time. I’m probably going to die before I’m thirty.

  “Whachu leek feetaumbla dreez?” the waiter says. At least, that’s what it sounds like he says. Who the fuck can tell with his accent? Courtney and her father look at me expectantly. Fuck.

  “What kind of dressing do you have?” I ask, proud of myself for inferring that was probably the question he asked.

  “No,” Courtney says, squeezing my hand and trying not to smile. “He asked if you want feta cheese. On your salad. They only have one kind of dressing here, the Greek house dressing.”

  “Oh,” I say, shrugging. “Sure, I’ll take the feta.” I have no idea what feta cheese is.

  Courtney and her dad give their orders, and the waiter clears the menus and leaves.

  “So,” Courtney’s dad says. He picks up a piece of pita bread and dips it in some kind of cream that’s sitting next to it. He pops it in his mouth and chews. I have no idea how the dude can be so calm, given what’s going on right now. “I hear you’re going to BU, Jordan.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say. I wonder who he heard it from—Courtney or my mom. Although I’m not sure how comfortable my mom should feel talking about my life right now, since I haven’t talked to her in weeks. For all she knows, I’ve scrapped this BU idea and have decided to head to Vegas and become a professional poker player. “That’s wonderful,” Frank says, smiling like it’s anything but. He hates me.

  The waiter sets our salads down in front of us, and I realize very quickly that the whole feta cheese thing was a horrible mistake. It looks gross and it smells gross, like old socks. And it’s in chunks. I don’t like anything that’s in chunks. Chunks remind me of unpleasant things. Like vomit.

  “Jordan’s majoring in accounting,” Courtney says in an effort to make me look good. In actuality, I’m going in undeclared, but I’m leaning toward accounting. I have no idea why, other than my dad is an accountant, and I feel like I need to do something to make him happy now that it turns out my mom is cheating on him.

  “Nice,” Frank says. He takes a bite of his salad, including a piece of feta. “This cheese is unbelievable. How’s your salad, Jordan?”

  “It’s really good, thanks,” I say. And it is really good. Except for the cheese. And except for the fact that I have no appetite.

  “You’re not eating the cheese,” Franks says accusingly.

  And you’re fucking my mom, I want to say back. But I don’t. I take a bite of the cheese. It falls apart in my mouth. I try to swallow it without tasting it, like a pill, and almost choke.

  “You okay?” Courtney asks, handing me my water.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  “So tell me more about this Miami trip,” he says, looking right at me. “Courtney says you two are planning to go next month.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, trying to convey in those two words that we are going to hang out only, not to have sex ever. Which is true. I’m not expecting sex at all. Not even a little bit. Okay, so I’d be happy if it happened, but I’m not planning on it. Courtney’s a virgin. As far as I know, she wants to stay a virgin. At least for a little while, anyway.

  “And where will you be staying?” he asks, looking at me closely.

  “My dad’s best friend from college has a house there,” I say, wondering if he’s going to give me shit about the fact that there will be no parental supervision. “And he goes to Europe for the summer, and lets me use the house whenever I want.”

  “How generous of him. It sounds like it’s going to be a fun trip,” he says, shooting me a look over the table that basically means, “If you put a hand on my daughter, I will shoot you.” Which really isn’t fair, since he’s feeling free to feel up my mom at any opportunity.

  “Yes, sir,” I say. I sound like a broken record.

  “I’ll be right back,” Courtney says. She pushes her chair back from the table and stands up.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly panicked. Why would she leave me alone with her father? Is Courtney insane?

  “To the bathroom,” she says. She kisses me on the forehead and then disappears.

  Once she’s cleared the area, Frank looks at me like I’m a piece of gum on his shoe.

  “Listen, Jordan,” he says. “This situation is only as difficult as you decide to make it.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. Who does he think he is? Some kind of threatening hit man? Or Dr. Phil, warning me that I have my fate in my hands? I push the feta cheese around my salad with my fork, resisting the urge to throw it at him.

  “I mean that this doesn’t have to be an issue,” he says. He wipes his lips with his napkin and sets it on the table. “I have no problem with you, Jordan. I have no problem with you seeing my daughter. The only problem we’re going to have is if you decide not to be discreet.”

  Decide not to be discreet? Is this guy for real? The word “discreet” sounds so gross, like some kind of ad for hookers. I might not be pleased with my mom right now, but she’s definitely not a hooker.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, just to be a dick. I start taking the feta cheese off my salad and dropping it onto my bread plate.

  “Yes, you do,” he says easily. “And I want you to know that I’m going to be the one to tell Courtney and her mom what’s going on. Not you.”

  “You seem really sure of that,” I say, continuing to throw the feta cheese onto the bread plate, spearing each piece and pretending it’s Frank’s head.

  “I am,” he says. “Because if Courtney finds out from you, I’ll make sure you never see her again. Hell, I won’t have to make sure of it. She’ll hate you for keeping it a secret from her for this long.”

  I don’t say anything because I know he’s right. I had my chance to tell Courtney when I first found out her dad was the one who was having an affair with my mom, and I didn’t. And now, because she had this preconceived notion that I was kind of a dick, if I tell her now, it’s going to come off like I am a dick. But maybe…maybe if I keep my mouth shut, if I don’t tell her I knew, if her dad does eventually tell her, we can deal with it together. We can help each other through it.

  “Whatever,” I say. “I’m not going to tell her.”

  “Good,” Frank says. He takes a bite of his salad and licks the dressing off his lips. “I really do think that’s the best way.”

  “Hey,” Courtney says, returning to the table. “What’d I miss?”

  before jordan

  76 Days Before the Trip, 10:10 a.m.

  “I think I might be in love with her,” I tell B. J. in unstructured on Thursday morning. It’s the last day of school, and we’re sitting the library, going over the review sheet for our AP Bio final.

  “You are not in love with her,” B. J. says. He leans back in his chair and rubs his temples.

  “I am,” I say. “I’m in love with her. I haven’t told her yet, but I’ve been thinking it.” It’s true, too. Over the past two months we’ve gotten really close, and in the past month, I’ve started to think it. There h
ave even been a couple times, especially when we’re getting off the phone at night, or when I’m leaving her house that I want to say it. But I haven’t yet, because I’m not sure if she feels the same way, and I don’t want to freak her out.

  “That is insane,” B. J. says. “You can’t be in love with her.”

  “Why not?”

  “A myriad of reasons,” B. J. says. I try to keep in mind this is the same guy who was dressed as a leprechaun the night he first hooked up with his girlfriend.

  “Such as?”

  “You haven’t had sex.”

  “So?”

  “So, sex is very important to a relationship,” he says. “How do you know you love her if you haven’t had sex with her?”

  “Not even dignifying that with a response,” I say. The weird thing is, even though Courtney and I haven’t had sex, I haven’t thought that much about it. I mean, I have thought about having sex with her, of course, and I definitely want to, but I haven’t thought much about the fact that we’re not having it. It’s just something I figure will happen when it happens. Courtney’s a virgin, so obviously I’m not going to rush it.

  “Okay,” B. J. says. He leans back in his chair and stretches his arms behind him. “How about the fact that you weren’t supposed to get attached to her? Dude, her dad is banging your mom. If she finds out you kept that from her, you are so fucked.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand,” I say, a knot of uneasiness starting in my stomach. She won’t understand. Courtney has this thing about trust. And if she knows I lied to her, she’ll break up with me immediately.

  “Dude, you have to tell her,” B. J. says. “I would never keep something like that from Jocelyn.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. B. J. and Jocelyn hooked up more or less around the same time Courtney and I did, but for some reason, I get super annoyed when he tries to imply that the relationships are the same. From what I can tell, he and Jocelyn have sex a lot. As in, every single day. Sometimes multiple times. They spend a lot of time together, but they don’t really do anything. Except have sex. I’ve never even really seen them talk. Unless they’re setting a time to meet up later so they can have sex.

  The bell rings and we file out of the library and into the hall. “I know I have to tell her,” I say. “But her dad is freaking me the fuck out.”

  “Don’t be afraid of that shit-sucker,” B. J. declares. “You need me to have a talk with him?”

  “Nah,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.” But as I leave B. J. in the hall and walk in to take my English final, I have no idea how I’m going to do that.

  courtney before

  76 Days Before the Trip, 12:23 p.m.

  “You had sex with him?” I say to Jocelyn, trying not to spit out my Sprite. Why she would wait until I took a drink to announce she had sex with B. J. is beyond me. Maybe because it’s the last day of school. So she feels the need to start the summer with a huge confession.

  “When did this happen?”

  “You mean when was the first time?” she asks, frowning.

  “There’s been more than one time?” Is it possible she means more than one time in one night? Don’t boys need time to, uh, recharge? Not that I would really know much about that. The recharging, I mean. Or the sex in general.

  “Yes,” she says, then leans in conspiratorially, since we’re in the cafeteria and all. “I think I might be a little addicted to it.”

  Great. My best friend is a sex addict. And not only that, she’s addicted to doing it with B. J. Which is a mental picture I’m really trying to keep out of my head. Not that B. J. is ugly or anything, but still. It’s B. J.

  “Well,” I say. “I’m going to have sex with Jordan.”

  “Courtney!” Jocelyn exclaims. Her eyes widen and she puts down her fork, which she’s been using to eat french fries off my tray. I have no idea why she doesn’t just pick them up and eat them, but she won’t. She spears them with a fork and then dips them in the little cup of ketchup that came with my lunch.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You cannot have sex with Jordan.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “I actually can. I mean, my body is capable of doing it.” I think it is, anyway. Although I do remember reading somewhere that if you don’t have sex for a while, your virginity actually grows back, and it can be hard for you to do it again. Not that that’s my situation, since I haven’t had sex before. But maybe if you wait too long, it gets harder to do it. But that’s insane, right? Besides, I’m seventeen, not thirty.

  “Well, of course your body is capable of doing it,” Jocelyn says, rolling her eyes. She flips her hair over her shoulder and studies me seriously. “Courtney, you can’t undo this. It’s not like buying a new shirt.”

  “I know that,” I say, rolling my eyes right back. “And the thing is, it doesn’t scare me.” It doesn’t. I want to be with him. I love him.

  “Oh, my God,” Jocelyn says. “You love him.”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, as if the thought of me being in love with someone is so totally ludicrous. Which, in a way, it kind of is. Here’s the weird thing—before I met Jordan, I kind of thought I would never be in love. Like, ever. It just seemed totally far-fetched that I would find a guy who would fall in love with me and take care of me and everything. But I did. I’m in love with him.

  “You do!” Jocelyn says. “You love him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t even be considering sleeping with him.” Damn. That’s what happens when you have a friend who knows you really, really well. You can’t get away with pretending to be someone you’re not.

  “Does he love you?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say slowly, thinking about it. “I think he does.”

  “Think is not good enough, Court,” she says. “Do you really want to sleep with someone if you don’t know they love you?”

  “It’s not like that,” I say, frowning. “I love him. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Not really,” she says. “This is a huge decision, Courtney. You have to make totally sure this is what you want. Because it’s something that’s forever.”

  “What about you and B. J.?” I ask. “How come it’s okay for you guys?” This sounds like a sex double standard. How come she’s allowed to do it and I’m not? I’m not going to say anything, but sometimes I wonder if her and B. J. even really like each other. They never do anything except drink and make out. And now, apparently, have sex.

  “Different situation,” she says. She pulls a tube of lip gloss out of her purse and lines her lips. “Want some?” she asks, extending the tube to me. “It would be really cute on you.”

  I take it and dab a little on my lips, marveling at the fact that she can intersperse talking about sex with talking about lip gloss. How can she be so cavalier? Is this what happens after you have sex? You just talk about it like it’s nothing? That makes me nervous for some reason, to think that something that’s such a big deal now could end up being nothing in the future. Although I guess it’s to be expected. Like, look at the girls on Sex and the City. They did it all the time.

  “How is it a different situation?” I roll the lip gloss around my lips, wondering if it makes me kissable.

  “Because we’re different people,” she says. “I don’t know if you can separate the emotional from the physical.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” I ask, frowning. Who does that? Separates the emotional from the physical? I guess sociopaths, maybe. And I guess Jocelyn is now claiming to do it, too, although I never pegged her for a sociopath.

  “Because if you don’t, you could end up getting really, really hurt,” she says. “Listen, I’m not trying to discourage you. But you just have to make sure this is what you want to do.”

  “It is,” I say. And I really do feel like it is. I want to have sex with Jordan. And when we go to Miami next month, I’m going to.

  the trip courtney

  Day Two, 1:31 p.m.

  “Did you not hear me?” I
hiss into the phone. “He’s starting to talk law enforcement.”

  “I don’t understand how this could have happened!” Jocelyn’s annoyed. “I’ve been so careful.”

  “Well, apparently you haven’t, because he told Jordan someone’s been following him since yesterday, and that he was going to call the police.” I’m sitting in Jordan’s TrailBlazer at a Burger King right off our route. Jordan’s inside using the bathroom and getting us food. I told him I wanted to wait in the car since it’s raining, but really I wanted to call Jocelyn and warn her about B. J.’s revelation.

  “You have to stop,” I say. I look out the back window to see if Jordan is coming out of the restaurant yet, but I don’t see him. “Stop right now.”

  “I can’t stop yet!” Jocelyn says. “It’s too early. Maybe I could borrow my sister’s car…Did he say how he figured out someone was following him? Maybe I just have to change my technique.”

  “I don’t know how he figured it out.”

  “Can you ask him?”

  “Ask who?”

  “Jordan!”

  “No, I can’t ask him! What would I say? ‘Can you tell me how B. J. found out he was being followed, because it was Jocelyn and she wants to know if she needs to switch cars or just change her stalking technique?’” Oh, my God. Jocelyn is delusional. This is exactly why hooking up with people is not a good idea. Once you’ve crossed that line it just makes you insane. You start doing things normal people would never, ever do. Where the hell is Jordan with the food? I’m hungry again. Which is weird. Is it possible that since I was throwing up all day yesterday, I’m trying to eat enough food for two days? Hmm.

  “Maybe there’s nothing going on,” I say. “Maybe B. J. really is just going to the places he says he is.”