Chasing Days

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  We walk through his kitchen to the living room, decorated in country-kitsch. He dims the light and turns on music.

  “So?” His lips quirk amusedly.

  “Yeah.”

  “We should—” He takes my jaw gently in his hands. He stares, much the same way he did when he spotted Joss walking by in that skimpy shirt. He gropes and kisses me on the scratchy tweed couch. His hands run along the sides of my body to my waist. Throbbing follows breathlessness. Grady loses his shirt and unbuckles his belt. He leans into me and every fantasy I've had of him rushes back.

  "Can we go to your room," I ask, stalling and working up the courage to tell him that this is my first time with a boy.

  He leads the way to his bedroom. It's painted blue. There's a shelf of books and trophies, car posters, and a narrow bed with a patchwork quilt.

  "I should tell you something," I say.

  When he sits on the bed, it creaks. The tilt of his head tells me it's okay to go on.

  "I've never, um, done it with a boy." I worry I should tell him about Joss now, but am afraid it'll be game over.

  "That's cool. I mean, we can or not. It's up to you how far we go." Grady is suddenly as nervous as me. He laces his fingers in mine and meets my eyes shyly. I suppose him and me being together in this way, is a first for both of us.

  "How about we start with this," I say, kissing him. As our lips press together, I know for sure he's the one I want to lose my hetero-ginity to.

  His shirt and my dress come off. I'm undressed but don't feel naked, rather adored and appreciated. He caresses me. I follow his lead until his ratcheting breath matches mine. We’re eclipsing this mutual yearning in wave after pulsing wave of desire. We both come undone and as we lay there afterward, he breathes, “Joss.”

  I snap back from bliss. “What did you say?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ☼

  Saturday

  Graduation Day

  The neon green clock on Grady's bureau tells me it’s technically Saturday morning. He embarrasses himself with an apology as I grope in the near dark for my clothing.

  “I don’t know why—I wasn’t thinking—” he says, panting.

  “No, you were thinking, just about someone else.”

  “But I was enjoying that. I wanted to—”

  “You wanted to get laid,” I say matter of fact, but lacking the spite any other girl would prick him with because I was thinking about the same person; at different moments I'd imagined Joss’s soft lips— especially when my cheek started to chafe against his light layer of stubble. As I pressed my chest to his, I imagined my breasts buoyed by hers. But it wasn't that I wanted to be with her instead; the image was just there. The memory of her and my breath forming one deep pulsation as Grady and I crescented carried me back to another recent night. I can’t blame him. Despite my thoughts periodically drawn elsewhere, I enjoyed being with him. He made me feel deep, immense pleasure until he said her name.

  Like so often recently, I need space to figure this out. "I could really use a time turner right now," I say, rubbing my head.

  “Will you forgive me? I really didn’t mean—” he starts to say, but in his voice I practically hear him repeat her name. I waver between being angry and being sad, guilt and several other yet-to-be-named emotions.

  “I'll forgive you only if you tell me the truth." My voice softens. "And I'll tell you mine,” I say as my lack of honesty blisters and pops in my mind.

  Grady looks taken aback, like he doesn’t know whether my relative understanding is for real or if the fangs and claws are about to come out. “The truth is I've had a crush on you, for like the last month. Or year.”

  “Think about that in jail time. Two very different time periods,” I say.

  “You’ve always been mysterious. You were kind of off limits and untouchable. For a while I was really confused about whether you and Theo were a couple.”

  “Say what?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Like I told you before, you're this super cool girl who does her own thing. You have your own vibe going on like you know exactly who you are. For one, you skate. Name one other girl at our school who rides a skateboard?”

  I think of Andrew and his interest in my hobby. “I can name three. Mari—”

  “You know what I mean. You're funny and sweet. You aren’t like other girls. Your parents are these renegade brewers. You—”

  I cross my hands in front of my chest with growing impatience. I'm well beyond flattery, though his plaintive, sweet eyes tell me this moment is the truth and a paradox; one I don't fully understand and I don't think he does either, but I'm familiar enough with the concept to give him room to speak.

  “Joss is, like, exotic—”

  “What am I domestic? A seagull?” The unfamiliar snap of jealousy mixed with familiar confusion catches us both off guard.

  “That’s not what I mean, I guess these last few weeks—” He falls quiet for a moment as if the reflection of what he needs to say is hard to look at. “I’ve sort of felt this dauntlessness, like I could do anything and like anything could happen and the consequences weren't as big a deal because we’d all be gone before long. I felt the urge to take risks before being locked into the lame future my parents have planned for me at college. For a long time I was afraid you'd say no, so I waited. When I saw you at the beach, it felt different being with you so I figured I should try and if it didn’t work out we’d probably never see each other again. Stupid, I know." He shrugs. "Then Joss shows up and she's like you amped to eleven. But I'm sorry because that's selfish and shitty. I don't want to upset or hurt you.”

  I sit down next to him on the bed, realizing what he and I were doing doesn't seem very different. We're both uncertain about the present and future and used having a good time as an excuse to put off our understanding. “Two things,” I say, holding up my fingers and closing my eyes for a moment, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. “Firstly, you need to have your head checked if you’re qualifying potential girls to hook up with based on how exotic or off limits they are. That’s supremely lame and douche-y.” I let my glare make my point.

  "You're right. I'm sorry. It isn't that I want to be with Joss or that I'm more attracted to her than you. It's nothing like that, at all. Plus Augie. I mean, I'd never do that to him. Bro code. But Joss, she seems like she inhabits herself, too, just like you and I guess that's something I need in my life. I admire it. I need to get the balls to, like, do my own thing. Y'know?"

  He's still naked, sitting there on the bed, baring everything to me.

  "Willa, please don't get the wrong idea; it really was Augie who wanted to go out with her. As cool as she is, she also terrifies him, so he put me up to asking about the date. I just wasn't sure how. Tonight, she just appeared in my mind at the wrong moment. Or maybe it was the right moment, because she's the kind of person who seems like she goes all in, isn't afraid of telling her parents or anyone else no, or dying her hair bright red. And finally, after so long, being with you, I felt like I kind of channeled that sort of daring," Grady says, defeat giving way to triumph. "But I'm sorry."

  I sit down next to him then flop back on the bed. "Apology accepted." I'm glad he's sorry because I'd be disappointed with myself if His Royal Hotness had been His Royal Heinous. “Secondly—" I let out a long exhale. "I know what you mean about feeling emboldened by the end of school.” I soften, exposing all the vulnerable and panicky parts of myself.

  His exhale whistles with relief. “Really?”

  The placid waters of the last four years build steadily behind the wall constructed out of the last two weeks. I let my thoughts flow into words. They surge like the waves the day Grady came out of the surf and we found a nudibranch. I confess my crush on him and Joss along with my immersion and how confusing and conflicting it's all been. Then I make my apology.

  ☼

  It’s well-after one a.m. Clothed again, Grady and I are still friends. I feel free and r
ich and lucky. In the kitchen, we drink milk and eat Oreos. He likes the cookie. I prefer the filling. Then we chat for another half hour.

  “What you told me, it’s hot and I totally don’t mean that in a sleazy way, but in that strong and independent kind of way. I'm glad I've gotten to know the coolest girl at Puckett.”

  We dissolved any weirdness between us with words and understanding, the last things I expected from tonight.

  “So you’re really not mad? You're not going to tear me a new one tomorrow on the stage in front of the entire school or something equally awful,” he says. "I'm sorry I was so weird about the thing with Augie and everything. He and I have been drifting apart, but I don't want to leave him behind either. Everything is changing and I just wanted tonight to be about you and me. I'm sorry I blew it."

  I shake my head. I'm strangely calm and lucid despite the late hour. It's like, if I tried, I could write that college essay or ten right now. “Thanks for understanding and not judging me,” I say.

  “So really? This is for real?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “Cool. Can I be a prick for a minute and ask a question?”

  I roll my eyes. "Don't push it," I warn.

  “For your first time with a guy, was it okay?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shifts slightly from side to side.

  I smile. “I’d do it again,” I say and give him a kiss on the cheek. For a moment, I consider lingering, but then move toward the door.

  “Wait, Willa really, no hard feelings?” He looks me over carefully, his eyes squinting with incredulity. I may have just rearranged the furniture in one of his rooms, possibly changed the drapes to purple with gold lightning bolts. I know for sure that my interior decorator has had a field day these last few weeks—total modern overhaul up in here.

  I stop on the brick walkway and let out a laugh. “I think you’re the one left with the hard feelings, but no, I have none.”

  He lets out a chuckle and calls after me again, “Willa, do you want a ride?”

  I shake my head. "See you tomorrow.”

  When I reach the end of his driveway, I chuckle at the absurdity of everything, of worrying and being overly self-aware and afraid everyone’s watching my every move and that they care about what my hands are doing and what shirt I wear. My clothes, my skin, everything finally fits.

  “Where are you going?” Grady shouts when I turn left down the street instead of right toward my house.

  I look over my shoulder. “I'm going to finish making things right.”

  It wasn’t a game, what just happened, my immersion. But I have unfinished business with Joss and I need to apologize. I like Grady, a lot, and I wasn't lying when I said I'd have sex with him again, but I've hurt Joss and that's not what I meant to do. I led her on while dragging her through my difficulties.

  I send a text I’m sorry about earlier.

  My phone remains quiet and I’m only two streets away. Still no response. Maybe Joss isn't there and then I’ll have even farther to walk to get back to my house.

  One street left to go. My phone beeps and glows in the dark, still night.

  K

  Bleck. The most noncommittal reply ever. She could have pocket typed it by accident.

  I practically slow to a crawl and give her a very abbreviated version of the surreal events that just unfolded with Grady. …And I realized that although exploring things with you and Grady was very much about me, I didn't mean to get so caught up and upset or hurt you.

  I see her grandmother’s house. There's a faint light in the upstairs corner window.

  I write If I had a boombox right now, I’d hold it over my head like in Say Anything. Teddy would be proud.

  She replies Does that mean you're outside?

  I am.

  In seconds, light floods through the front door illuminating Joss's frame.

  Our arms wrap tentatively around each other in a friendly hug. I breathe in her cherry cola smell and we're hard and soft, and pushing and pulling, and longing and rallying for friendship and connection.

  Joss pulls me through the kitchen, which smells faintly of cabbage and cookies, and out the back door.

  We sit together, bare thighs touching, on the porch swing. The outsides of our arms press together and I feel that pleasant zing. We swing, slowly, like time gives the gift of now to get this figured out, like it will put off dawn until we’ve both said what we need to and embrace this connection. Because that’s what right now is about. It’s too big for love and sex and thinking about the future. I'm here to speak from my heart and spill the truth because restoring friendship is what matters most.

  “I wanted to say that although these last couple weeks have been incredibly confusing and intense I realized what I was missing. I found me."

  Joss’s lips go past a smile and she starts laughing. My own smile fades and blood rushes to my face. I said the wrong thing. I misunderstood her. This is what mortification feels like.

  Her expression freezes on serious. “Wait, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just—I laugh at inappropriate moments, like when you get bad news or—I don’t know. It’s a poorly timed reflex. I’m sorry. I’m nervous because, Willa, I really, really like you and the fact that you came here, now, tells me I wasn't an idiot for feeling that way. For a moment, I thought I had you all wrong." She picks at a thread on her shorts. "I know you're still figuring out what your sexuality means to you and it's complex. It's tough to admit this, but I don't blame you for not feeling the way do—I mean, it hurts, but I get it." She lets out a deep breath. "And the other thing that happens when I get nervous is I start to ramble, but it’s a good thing I don’t put myself on the line and get nervous often otherwise you wouldn't think I was this cool babe, but a total blabbermouth wiener.”

  “You're so not a wiener. Babe? Yes. Weiner, no.”

  Our laughter cracks the tension. We pause, caught in each other's gaze. The light from the moon casts us in a pool of soft, milky light.

  "I'm sorry if I've been a weiner," I say, more seriously. "I was wrapped up in my own issues, but I want you to know I’m not scared anymore,” I whisper.

  “No, you’re incredibly brave.”

  All this time I've wondered what happens after the kiss. I suppose I was afraid of falling in love, turning inside out, and not knowing myself anymore. But I've found my inner compass and trust it'll always guide me back to myself, even as I grow and change and chart new courses. In the meantime, it turns out a kiss comes after a kiss and conversation and companionship. It combines the lust of new attraction and the whole-heat of the heart…and it is divine.

  Joss gives me a ride home. I’m reluctant to go, but I have to wake up in a few hours and remain upright and coherent for graduation day. My dad is asleep on the futon sofa and I'm way past curfew.

  “I’m home,” I whisper. “Safe and sound.”

  “That’s my Willa,” he mumbles sleepily. “I love you, kid. To the moon and back.”

  I smile. “To the moon and back," I repeat. "Night, Dad.”

  He snuffles and snorts.

  I climb into bed, still clothed, and pass out.

  ☼

  I wake up to my mother singing the words graduation day to the tune of YMCA. I hinge to sitting. The window between Teddy’s room and mine is open and the gossamer drapes flutter in the breeze. Cloudy gray light pours in too brightly for my stinging eyes.

  “Already?” I mumble.

  “The day has come.”

  I groan. Grady and the experience we shared and then Joss, glowing under the light of the moon, filters back from the night before. I want to stretch my hand through time and pull myself back into those moments when it was just me and forever. But today is graduation. My future starts now.

  “No sun today. That’s okay. Some people believe that’s good luck,” my mom says. She bustles around the room. I hope she’s not straightening up because she knows I despise when she does that.

  I crack
an eye open. She’s pacing and wringing her hands in opposition to her chipper voice.

  “Mom, are you okay?” I ask, worried.

  “Yes. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.”

  “What?” I ask softly.

  “I just—I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take off and live your own life. I still want more time with—” She sniffles and ties the curtains back. As they part, it's like I see dozens more: some are velvet, others sparky, some silky and patterned. As I've been figuring my issues out—the star on center stage of the Willa show—, all along, everyone else has been grappling with and parsing out feelings and problems of their own. They're not extras, but stars in their own right even though they may make cameo appearances by my side. I send my own selfishness off stage. I stumble to my feet and wrap my arms around my mom, never having thought that this is difficult for her, too. “There’s a lot that’s changing. But not everything.”

  "And with you growing up, there's a corollary. It means I'm also getting old."

  "As old as dirt."

  She flinches.

  "No really. We all are. If you expand upon the Law of Conservation of Mass—how it can neither be created nor destroyed, we're all as old as dirt, as the earth itself since the beginning of time."

  "You may want to take that up with Einstein." She doesn't look convinced but laughs anyway.

  "It was actually Antoine Laurent Lavoisier."

  The thin lines in the corners of her eyes map out every smile that's ever lifted her lips. “I want to be strong for you today,” she says, trying not to cry.

  "Mom, I'm about to go all you, on you. In an unexpected and strange way, exposing your uncertainty gives me confidence that I won't be alone, even if at times I am as I navigate the future. I always have you and dad. I know that you love me to the moon and back. This, you showing me how you really feel—” I plop back onto my bed not quite ready to be on my feet yet. She sits beside me.