by Sara Barnard
I dart round a waiter and scurry over to them, my heart kicking up a storm in my chest. As soon as I lock eyes with Rhys I will be OK. As soon as I sit down I will be OK.
Rhys sees me just as I reach the back of his father’s chair and his face breaks into a beam that sweeps my oncoming panic away. He is happy to see me. It is a good thing that I’m here. He stands as I approach and pulls out a chair for me. Hi!
Hi. I let him hug me, wondering if he can feel the pounding of my recovering heart. I smile at the table and actually manage an only slightly garbled ‘Hi!’ before throwing myself into the chair and reaching for the nearest menu.
‘Hi!’ The unfamiliar voice comes from my left, and I look over. ‘I’m Meg.’
Meg is pretty in a natural, elfin kind of way; her hair falls in long auburn waves and her face is a mass of freckles. She doesn’t seem to be wearing any make-up, and her smile when our eyes meet is warm and immediate.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ she says. Like Rhys’s family, she signs as well as speaking. I realize that my determination to not ask about Meg means I know nothing about their history or their friendship. How did they meet? How come she can speak such perfect BSL?
It doesn’t seem the time to ask these questions, though, so I smile back and sign that it’s nice to meet her too (I’m not entirely sure whether this is a lie) and then busy myself with the menu. Sandra, Rhys’s mother, asks me about the kennels and it’s a topic I am so comfortable with I talk freely. She is still thinking about adopting a dog, so I tell her about Lily, the three-legged beagle who arrived this week, and Scout, the collie cross who was left tied to the kennels’ front gate overnight, in the rain.
How’s Sally getting on? Rhys signs.
She’s good, I reply. She misses you.
See! Rhys swings round to make a face at his mother. I told you! Adopt Sally. She’s so cute.
‘The dog is for me, not you,’ Sandra says, laughing. ‘And I want to adopt a needy dog. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people willing to take on a cute Labrador puppy.’ She smiles at me. ‘Maybe I could come and visit the kennels and meet Lily.’
‘I work on Wednesdays and Saturdays,’ I offer. ‘If you visit on those days, I can show you around.’
As Sandra nods and the waiter arrives to take our order, I make a mental note to tell my therapist about this when I next see her. I made plans! I offered to show an almost-stranger around the kennels! How’s that for progress?
Meg turns out to be friendly and chatty – basically my total opposite – which is both a blessing and a curse. Chatty people are great to have a conversation with if you’re shy, because they fill your silences without making you feel awkward about it – it’s one of the reasons Tem and I gel so well. But the flipside is that it means Rhys is at the very least very close to a girl who is my total opposite in the most important way. Not only can she talk, she talks A LOT. And she speaks word-perfect BSL. What hope is there for me?
Not that I want there to be hope. Or do I? To be honest, I’m losing track a little.
We’ve just finished eating the main course when Meg stands up, pushing her chair back. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ she announces. ‘Can you come with me, Steffi?’
I freeze. This is it. The friendliness is all an act and she’s going to murder me in the toilets for encroaching on her turf.
Why? Rhys asks, looking baffled.
‘Girls always go in pairs,’ Meg explains. She eyes me significantly. ‘Steffi?’
Unfortunately, I can’t think of a single reason why I would refuse to go with her, so I inch back my chair and follow her silently through the restaurant and through the door marked LADIES.
‘So I wanted to talk to you,’ Meg says, the moment the door closes. She hops up on to the counter and grins at me. ‘And this seemed like the best place.’ She clasps her hands together and brings them up to her chin. There’s something endearingly childlike about her, I think.
‘OK,’ I say. The two syllables are about all I can manage at that moment, trapped in a small space with this sunny chatterbox, but she doesn’t seem to mind or even notice.
‘Rhys,’ she says emphatically, pointing at me. ‘Specifically, you and Rhys. And Rhys and me. You and Rhys and me.’ This girl doesn’t just talk, she talks fast, yet still with conviction, as if she’s totally convinced by every word she says, and you should be too.
I just nod. She doesn’t seem like she’s about to start yelling at me for encroaching on her boyfriend, but then again you never know.
‘You know we’re not together, right? Me and Rhys? Totally not a thing.’
I don’t know what my face does when she says these words, but, whatever it is, it must be obvious that this is really something I don’t know, because she makes a noise that is half delight, half frustration.
‘Ohmygod, I knew it!’ She slaps her hand against the countertop. ‘He is such a muppet. I told him, Steffi. Like, so many freaking times.’
Told him what? I want to ask. Come on, words.
‘He likes you, OK? Like, really likes you. He thinks you’re . . . you know. Sunshine.’
Sunshine.
‘And I said to him – ages ago, Steffi! – that he should tell you straight off that him and me aren’t together, in case you thought we were. Because we’ve been friends for freaking donkey’s years and so if you didn’t know us you might look at his Facebook and think we were together or something, even though, ew, he’s like my brother, seriously never. But he was all, oh, I can’t just tell her that, it’ll make it so obvious that I like her, and what if she doesn’t like me, blah blah blah. I mean, as if. Who wouldn’t like Rhys, right? He’s freaking awesome.’
Obvious that I like her.
‘He wanted you to ask him, like the little wuss he is, and I said to him, this is on you, dude, but he never listens to me. Boys, you know?’
I nod.
‘So obviously you never asked him, and he never told you, so all this time you’ve just been thinking that – Wait.’ She stops herself abruptly, and actually puts her hand up as if she’s interrupting me. She looks at me. ‘You do like him, right?’
My face flames with the fire of a thousand suns.
‘Ohmygod, please say you do, otherwise I’ve made a gigantic prat of myself.’ Her eyes are wide and anxious, but more in an excitable way than a Steffi kind of way. She softens a little, her voice quietening. ‘I was so sure that you did, from what he’s told me. Do you?’
I want to say, Ohmygod, yes. I like him so much. I might even love him. Does he really like me back? Does he does he? Really?
I nod.
Meg lets out a happy shriek that makes me literally jump, but she barely notices as she’s already jumping off the counter and throwing her arms around me.
‘I knew it!’ she practically yells, right into my ear. ‘Yay!’ She actually says ‘yay’. I kind of love her too. Especially when she lets me go and apologizes immediately. ‘Sorry, that was over-the-line touching. I get huggy when I’m excited.’
I smile. ‘That’s OK.’ Words! Actual words! Out of my mouth!
‘Oh good! Rhys tells me I’m like an octopus when it comes to hugs. Like I’ve got too many arms. Where was I? Oh yeah! Boys being wusses. So Rhys has been a big wimp, but that’s cos he likes you, I swear. He’s not usually like that. Like, he’s very protective of people he cares about. I’d trust him with my whole life. So. You see?’ She beams at me, slightly breathless from all her talking. ‘I’m definitely, definitely not with Rhys.’
Meg is not with Rhys. Rhys is not with Meg. My head spins. I am giddy and terrified and excited and sick.
Rhys likes me. Me!
When I get back to the table, I find I can’t look Rhys in the eye, but from my very careful sideways glances I see him sending panicked looks Meg’s way. She is smiling serenely, refusing to meet his gaze.
‘You’re just in time,’ Sandra says to me, smiling. I stop trying to n
ot look at Rhys and see the group of waiters approaching with a candlelit birthday cake. They start to sing when they get within a couple of metres of the table and everyone in the restaurant turns to watch and smile.
If this was happening to me on my birthday, I’d be horrified, but because it’s Rhys I find myself grinning along with everyone else when he pretends to sink in his seat and put his hands over his face. While the waiters sing, his family sign the words and I join in.
Rhys cuts the cake and begins dividing it carefully into equal pieces. The waiter sets a stack of small plates next to him. ‘Eighteen!’ he says. ‘Welcome to adulthood.’ But he’s standing slightly behind Rhys, so he doesn’t get a response.
‘Thank you,’ Rhys’s mother says smoothly, smiling. ‘I can’t quite believe he’s a man.’
Rhys’s dad claps him on the shoulder, beaming, and Rhys looks up with the smile of someone who knows he’s missed the conversation but doesn’t mind. He lifts the first plate of cake and passes it across the table to me. When our eyes meet, his smile broadens, just slightly; his nose crinkles, a dimple appears. My heart fizzes.
He likes me, I think. I smile back. He likes me.
Can I walk you home?
Rhys and I are standing outside the restaurant and I am still in the act of pulling my arms through my coat sleeves. Meg has already gone home so it is just us and his family left. I hesitate, thinking about my plan to call Dad so he could pick me up. Are you sure? It’s about half an hour.
I don’t mind. Unless . . . unless you mind?
I shake my head quickly.
For a second we both look at each other. OK, he says eventually, smiling a little nervously. He does a little hop-step over to his mother, has a quick conversation and comes back over to me, smiling. Lead the way. He makes a sign I don’t recognize.
What was that?
Rhys pauses, looking caught. Is he blushing? It’s your name.
My name?
He makes the sign again, his hands coming together like owl eyes then springing apart, his hands separating. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, then fingerspells the word. B – R – O – N – Z – E. Bronze.
A balloon swells in my chest. It lifts me right off the ground. You chose a BSL name for me?
Is that OK?
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I reach over and take his hand. I take his hand. It’s great.
He beams, relieved and pleased and shy, and gives my hand a little squeeze before releasing it so we can carry on talking. How was your food?
Good. You?
It was good.
It’s hard to talk while we’re walking, particularly as it’s already getting darker. I feel a kick of frustration – there’s so much I want to say to him. So much I want to hear. But we are who we are.
How does it feel being eighteen?
He shrugs. The same so far. Thanks for coming tonight.
Thanks for inviting me!
My parents are so happy I’ve made a friend like you. They’re really pleased you came.
Friend.
I look at him, trying to read his face in the dark. One of the things with BSL is that it’s pretty hard to say something you didn’t mean to say. There are no slips of the tongue when you talk with your hands. So did he mean ‘friend’ to tell me something? Was Meg wrong?
I’m pleased we’re friends too, I sign carefully. His eyes flick from my hands to my face, a slight crinkle in his forehead.
Can I ask you something?
Of course. I try to cover my terror with a smile. The pact.
What did you and Meg talk about? When you went to the bathroom? You were gone a while.
How can I answer that? How? I decide to be playful. Girl stuff.
Girl stuff?
I nod. We walk in silence for a while. I slide my hands into my pockets to keep them warm and try not to breathe too loudly. This is the loudest silence in the world. I can hear our footsteps.
After a while, Rhys makes a noise I can’t translate and signs something I can’t read. I squint at him. What?
He tries again. This time, I can just make out you and like and tonight. Well, that sounds promising.
One more time?
He lets out a half-laugh of frustration and takes my arm, pulling me a few steps down the road until we are both standing directly under a streetlight.
Did you like meeting Meg tonight?
Really?!
I look at him directly for a few seconds, letting him register the expression on my face. Then I sign, slowly and deliberately, Do you really want to talk about Meg?
Another long pause. He shakes his head. But . . .
But?
Did she tell you?
Tell me what?
Rhys raises his hands to his head and tugs on the ends of his hair, his face agonized. And then, finally, he says it. Meg isn’t my girlfriend.
I feel a ridiculous, inappropriate beam break out across my face. Isn’t she?
No.
That’s interesting.
He looks torn between laughter and panic. For a moment we just stare at each other. The glare from the streetlight makes his face look orange. She told you that, didn’t she?
Yes.
Did she tell you anything else?
God, this boy. He’s just as much of a wuss as I am. So you know what? I decide to just go for it. Let me be the bold one for once in my tiny, scared little life. She told me you like me.
He hesitates. He looks like a little boy. I do.
Not as a friend, I amend. As . . . more.
He nods. Yes.
I’m still beaming. My face is starting to hurt. Rhys is looking at me with such hopeful fear on his face it’s making me want to leap into the air and punch the stars. Cartwheel down the street. Burst into song. Say ‘hello!’ to everyone I see.
I see him bite his lip. Do you. Pause. Maybe. Pause. Like me too?
I nod. My smile might break my face.
We stand there under the streetlight beaming at each other. This is the part where we kiss, right? We’re going to kiss. I am going to kiss this boy. He is going to kiss me.
I wanted to tell you for so long, he says. His signing is looser and quicker now. But I didn’t know how. What if you didn’t like me too? What if I ruined things? I liked getting to know you.
I want to ask, why? But I also don’t.
I liked getting to know you too. I thought you might have a girlfriend the whole time, though.
His face falls. I’m sorry.
I didn’t think I was allowed to like you.
What an inadequate word ‘like’ is, I think. Such a small word to carry so much hope.
You are. You definitely are.
I know that now!
Rhys gives me a bashful, sheepish smile – my God he is completely, ridiculously beautiful – and then launches into a long, handy monologue about making a friend who he could talk to and not spoiling a friendship and how he tried to drop hints and –
And I take hold of his hands, move a step closer and crane my neck. My heart is buzzing. It’s making my whole body vibrate, a dizzy hum of joyjoyjoyjoyjoy.
And he hesitates, leans down and kisses me.
He kisses me! He kisses me!
We are face to face and his lips are warm and gentle. They are small kisses at first, tentative, and then we are both tilting our heads; the kisses get longer. His hands – his talkative, expressive hands – curl at my waist and at my back, pulling me towards him and bridging the gap between us. He feels so warm and solid. When his tongue touches mine, I swear fireworks start going off inside of me. I can feel them ricocheting through my veins. He doesn’t taste like strawberries or breath-mints or Prosecco – he tastes like boy. Like Rhys.
If we were talkers, maybe we’d exchange whispers between kisses. Maybe he’d put his lips beside my ear and tell me I’m beautiful. But we speak with our bodies and our faces, and so it’s like we’re still having a conversation. I know what it mean
s when he takes my hand and squeezes it; when he breaks the kiss to touch his nose to mine and smile. He touches my face like it’s something delicate. He doesn’t need to tell me that I’m beautiful or special or wanted. I can feel it in his touch.
How long do we kiss? I don’t even know. It is just me and Rhys under the streetlight (or spotlight, as I begin to think of it), KISSING. It’s possible people walk past us, but I honestly don’t even notice. If there’s a world outside the two of us, I don’t care.
What I learn about kissing: it’s fun. It’s hot. It’s brilliant. I could carry on doing it forever.
We finally break apart when it becomes impossible to ignore my phone ringing obnoxiously in my pocket. My breathing is all over the place, my chin feels like it’s been exfoliated and I’m not sure my heartbeat will ever return to normal.
I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say breezily. My dad, I sign to Rhys, who nods, all smiles.
‘Hi, Stef-Stef,’ Dad says. ‘Glad to know you’re alive.’
‘I’m just on my way home,’ I say.
‘I thought I was going to come and pick you up.’
‘Oh, well . . . that’s OK. Rhys is walking me home.’
There’s a long silence. ‘Is he?’ Dad’s voice is the oddest mix of jokey, nonchalant and horrified, as if I’m twelve years old instead of coming on seventeen.
We’re just kissing, I half want to say. No need to freak out just yet.
But of course I don’t. ‘Yeah, we’re almost back, actually. So I’ll see you soon, OK?’
‘OK, love,’ Dad says slowly. ‘Don’t make it too late?’
‘I won’t.’
When I hang up, Rhys smiles sheepishly at me. Do you need to get home?
I nod. Sorry.
Don’t be sorry! That’s my job. He gestures to himself, exaggeratedly gallant. I’m a gentleman.
I grin – sure – and lean forward for another kiss. I almost get lost in it again, but he guides me back, taking hold of my hand and pressing a final kiss on the side of my head.