by Robin Brande
"Come on, Cat, can you at least be a little bit excited? Please? For me?"
Of course she stared me down, even over the phone.
I groaned again. "Why did he even ask me out?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Amanda answered. "You're fabulous!"
There was no getting around it--this was actually going to happen. "Fine. But I'm just doing this for you."
"I accept," Amanda said.
So we made a shopping date for Saturday morning. Today.
Actually, it wasn't so bad. I have to confess it felt pretty good to hear Amanda say, "Look at that size! Cat, you're wasting away!"
I knew all my old clothes were feeling loose--I just didn't know how loose.
Wow. It's really working.
Amanda brought me some more pants and a few more tops. And a skirt.
"No," I said. "No skirts."
"It's time."
"I don't feel like shaving."
"Cat, are you a girl or what? Have I been mistaken all this time? Let me see your armpits."
"I shave those," I said, shrugging her off. "Why do I have to make such a big deal out of this?"
"Because it's your first date EVER. Well, since at least seventh grade."
"Those weren't dates."
"Uh-huh. Boy, girl, ice cream--that's a date." She waved off any further argument. "My point is, it's been a long, long, LONG time, and maybe we should give this the attention to detail it deserves."
"I'm not going to kiss him."
"Who said anything about kissing?" Amanda asked.
"I'm sure you were going to get to that."
"Well, now that you mention it--"
"Forget it."
"If he moves in like this--"
I pushed her away. "Forget it!"
She cocked her head and assessed my new outfit. "You look awfully cute!" she sang. She reached out and pinched my cheek. "A little makeup--"
"No makeup."
"--a little perfume--"
"Hominins didn't wear perfume."
"--and lose about an inch of hair on your legs, and we're talking gorgeous."
"I don't want to be kissed," I said.
"Of course you do."
31
Greg picked me up at six-thirty. I answered the door wearing the outfit Amanda picked out for me this morning--girl jeans, a white cami, and a cranberry-colored top. She fought hard to do my hair and makeup for tonight, but I stood my ground. Greg was going to have to take me in my native state or not at all. And I was secretly hoping for the not at all.
So why did I even agree to go out with him? He caught me off guard when he called the other night, but I could have backed out anytime these last few days. So why didn't I?
I thought about that a lot while I got dressed. And I decided if I had to be strictly scientific about it, it's because of that vanity thing again. I mean, when has a guy ever shown me the slightest bit of interest? And even though Greg isn't exactly my idea of a perfect match, I know there are girls out there who'd be flattered that he asked them out. And so maybe I'm one of them.
"You look great," he said as I stood in the doorway.
"Thanks. You do, too." And it was the truth. Which surprised me. I guess I'd never really looked at him before. I'd purposely averted my eyes when he showed up at lunch the other day, and same thing when he was standing in front of me in his Speedo. But seeing him tonight in khakis and a short-sleeved knit shirt, I sort of got a new appreciation for the guy's build. His biceps are as big as hams. And he must be at least a foot taller than I am.
He opened the car door for me. Points for that. And he was a pretty careful driver, signaling before every turn. Points there, too.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. My palms were so wet I could have soaked through a whole roll of paper towels.
Finally Greg led with, "So, you're a math and science geek, huh?"
I didn't really care for the "geek" part--geeks can call each other that, but we don't really like it when outsiders do--but I just answered, "Yeah, I guess."
"You like science, huh?"
"Yeah."
"I hate it," he said. "I suck at it."
"Oh." I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.
"You probably already took biology, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, "freshman year."
"Man, that class is killing me!"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Hey, maybe if I take you out to dinner a few times a week, you'll do my homework for me, huh?" He laughed. "Just kidding. But you're probably good at algebra, too, huh? I'd even buy you dessert--just kidding."
Thank goodness the ride was short.
Amanda and Jordan were waiting for us outside the cafe.
"How's it going?" Amanda whispered while the two guys did their male greeting thing.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I whispered back.
"You'll be fine."
Jordan clasped Amanda's hand as we entered the cafe. I stayed far enough away from Greg that he wouldn't get the idea he should do the same.
We grabbed our usual table--the owner, Darlene, keeps it reserved for us on Poetry Night--and sat down, boy-girl, boy-girl. I really wished it were girl-girl so I could keep whispering to Amanda.
The three of us order the same thing every time, so we didn't need menus. Greg had to go back up front to ask for one.
I made good use of his absence. "Jordan, what did he say about this whole thing? I mean, does he think this is like a kissing date?"
Jordan snorted. "A kissing date? What, are we in first grade?"
Amanda elbowed him. "She's nervous. Be nice."
"It's whatever you want it to be," Jordan told me. "Relax. He's not going to jump you--"
"Here he comes," Amanda whispered.
We all straightened up.
Greg took his seat again, and then scowled down at the menu.
"Get the veggie burgers, bro," Jordan told him. "Extra everything."
"What are you having?" Greg asked me. I pointed to the sweet potato fries on the menu. "Wanna share?" he asked. I know this is ridiculous, but that already felt too intimate. But I stammered out a "sure." Amanda gave me a reassuring smile.
In that moment she and I both knew it: I am so not cut out for dating.
While Jordan and Greg handled the small talk for a while, analyzing some of the results from their swim meet this morning, Amanda looked over her poetry notes and I just sat there trying not to panic.
How do people even do this? Why date at all? You have to figure out what to talk about, how to act, what to eat, what to wear, what to do with your hands--the whole thing is just torture.
And then talk about your torture. The first poet stepped up to the mike.
The woman obviously has some issues, and for some reason she decided to inflict them on all of us tonight. We had to sit through three excruciatingly long epic poems about her horrible mother, her rotten ex-husband, and the abusive, sadistic, blankety-blank boss who recently fired her. I wish the woman had just gone to therapy.
"Are they all gonna be like that?" Greg asked me as we applauded the woman finally sitting down.
"Sometimes. But Amanda's are always great."
"Do you mind if I wait in the car until then?"
I wasn't sure if he was serious, but then Greg flashed me a smile. So he actually has a sense of humor. I guess that's something.
The second guy was pretty good. He had a long, sad poem about growing up in Maine and losing his father to the sea. There were some really good lines in there, but all I remember is, "Roam ... to the foam ..." He repeated that several times. It was very relaxing.
Then he lightened the mood with a few short poems, one involving a girl with yellow eyes and the other about a dog who scooted his butt along the rug every time the poet and his girlfriend tried to make out.
That's what I love about poetry--you just never know what you're going to get.
I kept glancing at Greg to see how he was taking it. He seem
ed pretty happy in his own little world, tearing his napkin into tiny strips and laying them out on his place mat like logs. Just a few more napkins and he could have built a fort.
There was a break after the second poet. Greg immediately jumped up. "Anyone want anything to drink?" Jordan asked him for a Coke. As soon as Greg was gone, the three of us leaned forward again for a quick consultation.
"He's totally bored," Amanda said.
"Too bad," I said. "I'm not leaving."
"That first woman sucked," Jordan said.
"Shhh," Amanda answered. "She was fine."
"If he wants to leave, I'll go home with you guys," I offered.
"He's here to be with you," Jordan said. "He's not leaving till he gets some."
Jordan dodged Amanda's punch. "I'm kidding! He's totally cool. Don't worry, Cat."
"You swear?"
"I told him you're like a sister to me. Nothing's happening. Unless you make the move--"
"He's coming--" Amanda said.
We all jerked upright and tried to look casual.
Amanda let out a muffled laugh and leaned forward once more to whisper, "I can't believe we're on a date together. Finally."
I smiled. It actually was starting to feel a little fun. I wasn't expecting that.
We sat through two more sets of two poets each, and then it was Amanda's turn. And I have to admit I felt incredible pride showing her off to someone new.
I leaned toward Greg and whispered, "You're going to love her. She's really great."
Greg reached down and found my hand. He squeezed it and kept holding on. He brought his lips right up against my ear. "I think you're really great."
I know Amanda's poems were wonderful tonight. I just didn't hear a single one of them.
32
As we walked out of the cafe, the four of us together, Greg was still holding my hand. Amanda widened her eyes at me and I couldn't even widen back. It was like I was sleepwalking.
That's exactly what it felt like. I was very, very tired. Like I'd run a marathon and was now relaxing in a tub. My limbs were buzzing and weak. I think I was in shock.
Amanda must have thought so, too, because she managed to pull me aside for a minute while the guys walked on ahead.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"Cat, look at me. What's going on?"
"I think he likes me."
"Der. Do you like him?"
"I have no idea."
"Do you want to ride home with him?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I said.
"Because if you're nervous at all--"
"I'm completely nervous!" I answered. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
"I told Jordan to put the fear of God into him. Right now he's telling Greg if he lays a hand on you--"
"He was holding my hand," I said. "Did you see that?"
"Is that okay?" Amanda asked.
"I have no idea." A sort of hysterical giggle was working its way up my throat.
Ahead of us Jordan gave Greg a stout punch to the arm. That must have been the end of their man talk. "So if you kiss her I'll rip your face off, 'kay, bro?" Whatever he said, Greg seemed to take it well. He punched Jordan back.
"Ready, Cat?" Greg asked, removing his keys from his pocket. We were already at his car. Jordan and Amanda had parked farther on.
Amanda tilted her head and looked at me. "Say the word--"
"It's okay," I whispered. "It's a short drive."
Greg opened the door for me again. I could see Amanda gave him points for that, too.
"I'll come by tomorrow," Amanda promised. I nodded and slipped into the car.
As soon as he started the ignition, Greg reached over and took my hand again. It was just like what I'd seen Jordan do with Amanda after the last Poetry Night. How weird. I never would have guessed that a month later that would be me.
We didn't talk at all on the way home. Greg stroked his thumb across the top of my hand, and that completely rendered me mute. I'm not sure I was even breathing. It felt like I was watching the whole thing from somewhere above my body.
When he pulled up in front of my house, Greg parked the car, turned off the engine, and unclipped his seat belt. I kept mine on and stared straight ahead.
"Cat?"
I didn't want to look at him, because I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next. I've seen enough movies.
"Okay, so see ya," I said, trying to will myself to open the door.
"Cat." This time it was a statement, not a question, and for some reason that's what got me. I turned to him more slowly than I knew I could. Greg reached out and gently cupped my chin in his hand. Then he pulled me toward him and lowered his mouth and kissed me softly on the lips.
It was my first kiss ever.
And it felt exactly the way I was afraid it would feel.
33
Amanda usually sleeps until noon on Sundays. Which is why I wasn't at all prepared to see her at my door at ten.
"Tell me everything."
I wasn't so sure about that. Being a romantic, Amanda probably didn't want to know I was sick to my stomach this morning. And that I made fabulous whole wheat and blueberry waffles for everyone else, but didn't have a bite myself. Or that my family was under strict instructions to tell anyone who called--anyone--that I wasn't available today. I didn't add that I would never be available again.
"Well?" Amanda prodded. I made her wait until we could get to my room and shut the door.
"I don't like him."
She looked so disappointed. "Oh." "He's just not ... right."
Amanda flopped onto my bed. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know."
"Well, let's go down the list. The way he looks?"
"No, that's okay."
"Too boring? Too jockish?"
"No."
"Slimy hands? Stinky breath?" "No."
"Then what?" Amanda asked. I shrugged.
"Did he try anything?" Amanda asked. "Yes."
"He did? Like what?"
I hesitated to tell her, but I knew there was no way I could avoid it. "We kissed a little." "WHAT?"
"Shhh! We kissed. It wasn't good."
Amanda slid off my bed and sat on the floor. She patted the carpet next to her. "You sit here and tell me absolutely everything, missy. From start to finish. Don't you dare leave anything out."
So I did. From the cupping of the chin to the soft first kiss to the deeper kisses that followed.
"So what was the problem?" Amanda asked. "Is he bad at it?"
"How would I know?"
"Well, was it too ... tonguey?"
"Ew," I said. "No."
"Then what?"
"I just didn't ... feel anything, you know? I mean, I felt something, but not ... you know, fireworks or anything."
Amanda squinted at me. Squinted and stared me down. "Oh, I see."
"What?" I asked.
"I understand."
"Understand what?"
She stood up and brushed off her pants. "Okay, well, that explains a lot."
"What?" I demanded. She can be so exasperating at times.
"I won't bother you again," Amanda said. She didn't seem angry, just ... resolved.
I followed her out to the kitchen, where she started snooping around all my latest creations. She cut herself a slice of banana bread (I figured out how to make it the hominin way) and slathered it with butter. "So," she said brightly, "what do you want to do today?"
Something was up with her, I just didn't know what. "Come on--out with it. What do you want to say?"
"Nothing," she answered innocently.
"You think I'm going to end up a dried-up old hag."
"No. Probably. It's fine."
I pinched her arm.
"Ow!"
"Say it," I demanded. "Now."
Amanda took a deep breath. "Fine. But you have to listen to me and not argue."
I knew this wasn't going to be good.
"I th
ink a certain someone broke your heart," Amanda began. "And whether you admit it or not, now you feel like you can't ever let yourself like anyone again."
I started to protest, but she held up her hand. "I know what you're going to say, but you're wrong. The Cat and Matt show is still alive and well in your poor little heart, and no guy--even if he's the greatest guy in the world, which I'm not saying Greg is, but just for the sake of argument--no one is going to stand a chance with you until we finally do something about this."
My little brother came in just then, so we immediately changed the subject. Amanda made small talk with Peter for a few minutes--something she's always been so much better at with him than I have. He grabbed some food and went back to watching TV, and Amanda and I returned to my bedroom.
"You're wrong," I said as soon as I closed the door. "That's not it at all."
"It isn't? Then why haven't you liked a single guy ever since seventh grade?"
"There just hasn't been anyone."
"Anyone like him, you mean."
"No," I said. "Anyone period. I'm definitely open to the right guy. I just don't think Greg is it."
Amanda kicked off her shoes and sat back on the floor, leaning against my bed. "Are you telling me you have no feelings whatsoever for Matt anymore?"
"None. Except disgust--does that count?" I threw her a pillow off my bed and grabbed one for myself. I sat next to her and cushioned my back, even though hominins sat on the hard dirt. This wasn't a hominin moment.
"You know what they say," Amanda said. "Hatred isn't the opposite of love, it's just another variation of it. They both mean you still have passionate feelings for someone. If you didn't feel anything at all, then I'd say you were free of him."
"I don't feel anything," I said. "I hardly even notice him."
"So if Matt McKinney came here today, and fell on bended knee, and begged your forgiveness--"
"It wouldn't matter. I don't care anymore."
"Hmm," Amanda said, clearly not convinced. "You keep telling yourself that. Meantime, what are you going to do about Greg?"
"I don't know, hide."
34
Day 54, Monday, October 13
Lunch: None. Brought some great leftovers from last night, but a certain someone had to stick his grubby fingers in there, and it wasn't very appetizing after that. Oh, well, I'm probably not going to starve to death just from missing one meal.