by Claire Adams
“Well,” she says, “why not start at the beginning, and if I start to get bored, I’ll call Robby the Bouncer over here to rough you up and remove you from my glorious presence.”
She has a flair for the dramatic.
When I met Desi that first day—after helping her pick up the spilled bag of garbage, of course—I honestly thought she was a little weird. Those things you think, but don’t say because you know people will look at you funny? Those were almost exclusively the kinds of things that Desi wanted to talk about.
I’d been so used to watching everything I said—my parents were on my mind a lot more back then—that hearing someone who wasn’t afraid to express herself was flat out inspiring. Mick had tried to get me to come out of my shell, but as soon as I met Desi, I didn’t need encouragement.
Her willingness to tell me whatever happened to be on her mind at a given moment naturally got me doing the same thing.
That was just the first day.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I tell Desi, “Sorry, would you excuse me for just a second?”
“Sure thing,” she says and strikes up some small talk with the bartender.
It’s a text message from Kate. She writes, “Hey, give me a call when you can. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
I’ll call her in a little while. I’m still a bit irritated from the way things went earlier, and I don’t want to end up taking that irritation out on Kate.
“Everything all right?” Desi asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “That’s Kate. Apparently, there’s some news.”
“Do you need to take it?”
I shake my head. “I’ll call her back in a while when I’m feeling less likely to pick an argument with her.”
All this time I’ve been sitting here, I hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that Desi’s still in her work clothes. By that, of course, I mean the black sarong and bra top she put back on after her set was over.
Even with as uncomfortable as I should be for any number of reasons right now, though, I can’t help noticing how much easier it is to talk to Desi right now than it is to talk to Kate.
I don’t know if it was Mick’s punishment or something else entirely, but just sitting here with Desi makes me realize that if Kate and I are going to work things out, we’re both going to have to start being more upfront with each other.
My phone vibrates in my pocket again, only this time, I don’t bother taking it out and looking to see who’s calling me.
Chapter Seventeen
The Slow Turnabout
Kate
It’s only been a few days since I told my dad I was going to start looking for a place. I really was settling in for the arduous process that was no doubt to follow, and after my dad begged me to reconsider that night, it was looking like that’s exactly what was going to happen.
I didn’t expect him to drop an envelope on my lap the next morning with $5,000 from his savings tucked inside.
“I have to tell you this is a loan, it’s not a gift,” he said as he was walking out of the room. “We can figure out repayment later. For now, just start looking for something in a decent neighborhood.”
Now, I’m standing in the living room of my admittedly small, though wonderfully tidy new apartment.
Things move a lot faster when you have money.
After Eli ignored my calls and my messages the other night, I figured that was the beginning of the end for our relationship, but I can’t help wishing he was here right now to help me celebrate.
I doubt it’ll change anything, but I go to the far corner of the living room and take a picture of the place with my phone. I send the picture to Eli with the caption, “This is the surprise I wanted to tell you about.”
The apartment’s full of boxes, but at least that means I’ll have something to do over the next few days before I start thinking too seriously about getting a job. Dad co-signed the lease with me—under the strict condition that Mom never finds out about that detail—but I don’t want to just end up asking him for money at the end of the month or whenever this $5,000 runs out.
My phone rings and it startles me to the point that I trip over a box as I’m going to answer it. I pick myself up, frustrated, and answer the phone, saying, “Yeah?”
“Hey, Kate,” Eli says. “I just got your picture. Did you get an apartment?”
“I did,” I tell him. “It’s been a couple of days since I heard from you. I was starting to think you’d lost interest.”
“Not at all,” he says, his voice bright. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact. I’ve just been trying to get some things figured out. I don’t know what you’ve got planned for tonight, but if you want, I’d love to take you out to celebrate your new place.”
He was trying to get some things figured out. I’m still pretty new to the whole “being in a serious relationship” thing, but if the sitcoms are right, that means he was trying to decide whether he still wanted to date me or not. I get that I was a little weird the last time he tried to take me to dinner and a drag race, but I’m not excited about the fact that he apparently came so close to calling it quits.
At the same time, I can’t really blame him. Since he ignored me when I was trying to share some of the biggest news of my admittedly sheltered life, I’ve been trying to decide whether he and I were really going to work.
I’d rather not be offended by him right now, though, so I’m going to just go ahead and forget that part for a minute.
“To be honest, I’m a little surprised that you want to go out,” I tell him.
He sighs. “I know,” he says. “I should have called you back. I guess I just didn’t want to participate in the ending of our relationship, if that’s where things were going, but I’ve managed to get some things cleared up, and I want to tell you that I’m in if you’re in. I like you a lot, Kate, and I don’t want us to end things just because we both had a bad night.”
“Sounds like you’ve been getting some pretty good advice,” I tell him. “How much does Mick charge an hour?”
Eli laughs. “I take his advice when it comes to what mod is going to be the best bet for my car, but when it comes to relationships, he’s not exactly the kind of guy I want to learn anything from.”
“Ah,” I answer.
“Yeah,” he says. “I ran into an old friend a couple of days ago and she’s been helping me work through some things.”
She?
“Anyone I’d know?” I ask, though I’m not sure who that could be other than Eli’s boss. Our social spheres hardly overlap.
“No,” he says. “I actually haven’t even seen her for about three years, but it was good to catch up. Anyway, are you up for a night on the town?”
I swear I’m not the jealous type, but with the timing and everything, I can’t help but follow up, asking, “Anything I should be worried about?”
“No,” he says. “She’s single, but I’m not interested in her. I’m interested in you.”
It’s a good answer, assuming it’s the whole truth. I’ve never had any indication that Eli might be the type to cheat on me, but personal advice he got from a single female he hasn’t seen in a few years, during a time when neither of us were going out of our way to talk to each other? That makes me nervous.
“That’s good to know,” I tell him. “It’s not an ex-girlfriend or anything, is it?”
He pauses.
Oh great. This is exactly what I need right now.
“We went out when we were teenagers, but we never really worked as a relationship,” he answers. “We were always a lot better at being friends.”
“Why are you being so honest?”
“Would you rather I lied to you?”
I sigh. “No,” I tell him. “Isn’t that the sort of thing people usually lie about when they’re in a committed relationship, though?”
“That’s the kind of thing people lie about if they want to ruin a committed relationshi
p,” Eli retorts. “Kate, there’s honestly nothing going on between me and Desi.”
Desi’s a stupid name for a stupid person and I hope I never see her stupid face or I’m going to have to punch her in her stupid nose.
“I’ve always loved that name,” I tell him. “You’ll understand if I’m a little hesitant about that, though.”
Eli sighs. “I know it sounds like a bad thing, but there’s really nothing left between her and I,” he says. “Besides, it’s not like we’re back in each other’s lives in some huge way. We ran into each other when I was out with Mick and the guys.”
This isn’t how we’re going to get the relationship back on track. Either I’ve got to stop being jealous, or he’s got to stop seeing his “friend.” Either option seems like a lot of work without any guarantee of results.
Is it worth it? I guess there’s only one way to figure that out.
“I could probably go for some dinner,” I tell him. “Did you have something in mind?”
“Whatever you want,” he says. “This is your party. We can go wherever you want.”
I don’t know what to do in a situation like this. I’ve spent the last few days thinking it was over between Eli and me, and while that may have been premature, the feeling isn’t quite gone yet.
“We’ve got to figure out a way to communicate better,” I tell him. “Whatever we’re doing now isn’t going to cut it.”
“I’m with you,” he says. “Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. So, do you want to go out and celebrate?”
Why would he tell me he’d been chatting with an ex-girlfriend unless nothing happened? That doesn’t seem like a bright plan if something was going on with them.
At the same time, he could have just been giving me a little bit of uncomfortable truth so I’d be less likely to think there’s another shoe waiting to drop.
He sounds happy, though, like he’s excited to take me out to celebrate. Maybe something’s going on, maybe not. All I know right now is that I’m never going to know if things can work out with us if I’m not willing to try.
“All right,” I tell him. “Would you mind if we take my car, though?”
“That’s fine,” he says. “The Galaxie’s in the shop, anyway.”
If we do end up staying together, I think we’re going to have to have a talk about that car of his at some point.
* * *
When I get to Eli’s place—an apartment I still haven’t seen the inside of—he’s waiting for me by the curb. As I’m pulling up, a big smile comes over his face.
I take the key out of the ignition and get out of the car, saying, “I know we’re taking my car, but would you mind driving? After all the moving I’ve been doing today, I could use the break.”
“I wish we’d connected before you moved,” he says. “I could have helped.”
Yeah, I’m trying not to think about that right now.
“Sure, though,” he continues. “I’ll drive.”
I toss him the keys and get in the passenger’s seat.
Eli gets in and we’re on our way, though we haven’t settled on where we’re going yet. After about fifteen minutes of driving past restaurants, I finally say, “Just pick something. I’m really not in the mood to make any decisions right now.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I tell him, letting him hear the frustration in my voice.
“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to get something to go or do you want to dine in?”
“Why haven’t I seen your apartment?” I ask. “You’ve been in my house a few times, and my parents live there.”
“We can grab something and take it back to my place if you want,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t spend a lot of my time there, so I guess I hadn’t realized I hadn’t invited you in yet.”
“Let’s do that,” I tell him.
Here we are, on our way to celebrate my new apartment, and I’m insisting that we eat at Eli’s. The evening could have had a better start.
After driving for a few more minutes, he asks if I’m up for Italian.
“As long as it’s not Olive Garden,” I tell him. “If I wanted lazy, flavorless pasta, I’d ask my mom to cook.”
He chuckles as we drive past Olive Garden.
“You know,” I tell him finally, “I’m really not all that hungry. Do you have anything to drink at your place?”
“I think so,” he says. “I should have some stuff left over from the last time Mick crashed on the couch. We can always hit a liquor store on the way back.”
“Hit?” I ask.
Eli glances over at me with a smirk. “Go to,” he says. “I didn’t mean we should rob the place.”
“Ah,” I respond.
“Apart from traffic violations and some light money laundering, I’m actually a pretty law-abiding kind of guy,” he says.
“Oh, well that’s a relief,” I tell him.
He looks over at me, and I know he’s trying to figure out whether I’m serious or not. For whatever reason, I start laughing.
Eli’s snickering in a particularly nervous way, but that only makes the situation more hilarious to me.
“What?” he asks as I’m wiping a tear from my eye.
I’m trying to stifle my remaining laughter, but it’s difficult. “Life’s just funny sometimes,” I tell him.
We stop by a liquor store, and over Eli’s many protests I grab a nice, big bottle of tequila.
I have been drunk exactly once in my life, and that was just because Paz would give me the stink eye every time she ordered a drink and I passed. Still, I think we’re going to need something if we’re going to get through the new awkwardness and find a way to get back to where we were before that night in the restaurant.
When we pull up in front of Eli’s place, I’m cradling the bottle of tequila like an infant with a very different kind of bottle. The funny thing is that the longer I hold it, the less I want to drink.
What Eli and I need right now is a way to relieve some tension, but I don’t think alcohol’s going to be the way to do it. The obvious next choice for tension relief is sex, but I’m not quite there.
Eli walks me up to his door, and he unlocks it. Opening the door, he leaves the light off until we’re both inside and the door is closed behind us.
I’m half-expecting a surprise party or something before he flips on the lights, and another reason for his discretion becomes apparent.
“Where did you get all this?”
Along with the things I expected—the huge television, the occasional tool or car part tucked away nearly out of sight—there is a lot that I didn’t. There are fine art prints on all the walls and all of his furniture is either modern and expensive, or very old…and very expensive.
“Races, mostly,” he says. “A lot of people will insist on a pink slip when their opponent can’t pay their losses, but I hate to take someone’s ride if they didn’t put it up in the first place. So, when I can, I offer them the chance to trade. New people don’t usually have too much, but if you can get someone who’s been racing for a while into a position like that, you can end up with some pretty crazy stuff.”
“My parents actually have this exact print,” I tell Eli, gazing over a surrealist piece featuring a sun shaped like a cracker “setting” into an ocean of what I’ve always thought looked like fondue cheese.
“It’s not a print,” he says. “That’s the original. I actually took that instead of the guy’s car about a year back. I didn’t even know it wasn’t a print, much less worth anything until I took it in to a pawn shop and saw the guy’s expression when I asked how much I could get for it.”
“If you didn’t think it was worth anything, why’d you take it?”
Eli shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t feel right about separating a noob from his car so quick.”
“And this one,” I say, gazing at a sculpture of a headless man playing basketball. “This is exquisite.”
>
Eli’s chuckling behind me, and I realize the man in the sculpture isn’t playing basketball, he’s attempting to throw his own severed head.
“If I’d known you were into art, I would have brought you here a long time ago,” he says.
“Why didn’t you?”
He takes a deep breath. I mirror the action.
This is where it begins: the conversation that’s either going to make or break the relationship.
“I feel like we’ve been hiding from each other,” I tell him.
“What do you mean?”
I turn around to look at him. “There are parts of your life I know nothing about,” I tell him, “and I know there are things I haven’t told you, either.”
“It takes time to get to know a person,” he says. “I think we’re doing all right, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I don’t think our problems are anyone’s fault. I think you and I come from different backgrounds, and it’s only natural that we’d hit some speed bumps,” he says. “What matters, though, is whether this relationship is something we want to pursue or not.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “That’s what matters.”
“What’s on your mind?” he asks. “You obviously have something you want to say.”
My eyes move over Eli’s entertainment center.
Other people may focus on the fact that Eli’s got seven different gaming consoles, but I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s got his outrageously large flat-screen setting on top of what certainly looks like an authentic Baker Georgian-style Serpentine Front Chest.
The parents tried to take up antiquing a few years ago. It was very educational, but it didn’t last long.
“You know that chest of drawers is worth more than the television, right?” I ask.
“Really?” he asks. “I mean, I know that—I had the thing appraised—but you got me all ready for a serious discussion and—”
“I know, I know,” I interrupt. “Look, my life is changing. I’d be either stupid or cruel to think that’s not largely because of you, but things are hard right now. I’m living on my own for the first time ever and I’m going to have to quit my job as a volunteer at the hospital, otherwise I’m never going to have enough money to make it work, and I do not want to go back and live with the parents again.”