Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

by Jaye Robin Brown

I hold the phone out for a second and take a few deep breaths through my nose. Dana is the fuck-the-patriarchy, in-your-face variety of girl. Though I am behind that with all the fist pumps—and support her doing her all the way—it pisses me off when she won’t let me do me. I’m not any less of a lesbian than she is. Besides, my plans for my radio show have as much merit as any of her Instagram hashtagging.

  “Girl, I can hear you nose breathing up there, get off your fucking high horse.”

  My hand squeezes on my phone. “I am not on a high horse.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “This year is an anomaly. A wedding gift to my dad, you know that.”

  “Ah, Jo. I love your righteous ass.”

  “So you’re not mad?” I’m not sure why I’m always on the apologizing end of things with Dana.

  “I’ll get over it. You’re my girl.” I never know how to take it when she says stuff like that. Sometimes, even with all her girlfriends, there’s this kind of subtle connection between us that feels like the slightest flame might spark it. I’m pretty sure it would be disastrous, though.

  Dana keeps talking. “Don’t you get like a day for good behavior or something? Can’t you talk your dad into letting us hang in Little Five Points for an afternoon? I mean, how much trouble could we get into?”

  I could remind her of the time she met those girls who were rolling their own cigarettes in the parking lot behind the stores on Euclid. They must have seen a kindred renegade in Dana, because they popped their trunk to reveal three milk cartons filled with spray paints. “Come on. Don’t you want to tag with us?” I don’t know if it was the girl’s sexy drawl or her friend’s shoulder nudging against Dana, but Dana agreed to it. Tagging, in broad daylight—how fucking stupid can you get? And me the whole time, just hanging out, doing none of it, but being an accomplice all the same. It was only by sheer luck that we escaped the cop who spotted us. A huge truck rumbled down the street, giving us time to run up behind the Variety Playhouse and split up, that pissed-off cop screaming at us to stop. We managed to get away, but it was hours before I was brave enough to sneak back to my car.

  The memory makes me laugh. Dana’s trouble but she’s mine. “I’ll ask him. Maybe I could meet Willow?”

  “Her? She’s over. Now there’s Letiesha, but I’m really playing for this girl Holly.”

  “I can’t keep up.”

  “That’s ’cause your Dana’s a playah. . . .”

  My phone beeps the text sound and I don’t know who’s cutting in, but I’m going to use it as an excuse not to listen to all Dana’s dirty details.

  “Hey, listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  “What? We were just getting to the good part.”

  My phone beeps again. “I promise I’ll call you back.”

  “Whatevs, see you.”

  I hang up and look at the screen. It’s a Rome number I don’t recognize and the text says one word, Help.

  Who is this? I type back.

  You should simply label this number Smart and Fabulous.

  Then another in quick succession.

  But date challenged. (It’s Mary Carlson)

  Oh. Hi ☺ Why help?

  Chaz texted and asked me out. But I don’t want to go alone with him. I need a double date.

  I have a bad feeling about this.

  Could you ask Betsy and Jake?

  Um. No. They are super handsy. I’m looking for rated G double date.

  I decide to play dumb even though I have a pretty strong suspicion what she’s going to say next.

  Well, who could you ask to go with you?

  Gee. I don’t know. But I was thinking, hmmm, Joanna understands. And then I thought she likes George and George likes her and voila. Double date.

  George hasn’t asked me out. We’re in the friend zone.

  I could change that.

  I sit for a moment letting her texts sink in. Out the window, I see the across-the-street neighbor pulling a lawn mower out of his garage. The sound it makes when he cranks it is the sound of suburban inevitability. I can’t believe what I’m typing as I type it.

  I’ll ask George. But only as friends. When is this fiasco?

  Ha! Friday night. Olive Garden and some movie. You. Are. The. Best. <3

  Is it stupid I want to hang on to that heart emoji for a while? Yes, because I already learned the hard way that emojis don’t mean anything. But as pathetic as it sounds, hanging out with Mary Carlson on a double date is better than not hanging out with her at all.

  Twelve

  IT’S WEDNESDAY AFTER SCHOOL AND I’m finally bringing George to meet my dad. He’s got a serious fan boy problem. “Should I follow you in my car or you want to ride with me or what?” He’s jogging in circles around me.

  “Why don’t you ride with me? I’m not sure you should be behind the wheel right now. I’ll drop you back here.”

  “’Kay, cool.” He does a couple of sideways steps in each direction.

  It’s cute, and sort of strange, but hey, whatever floats his boat.

  We pull out of the school lot and he’s leaning forward in my passenger seat, bouncing like a little kid. “Do you think I can see a handwritten sermon? Or that maybe I’ll see him tape a show?”

  His excitement does help ease my nerves about what I promised to ask him. “You know, George. Most guys would be like this at a Braves game, meeting a player. You do realize my dad’s just a radio preacher?”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s personal for me.”

  “Personal?”

  George lets his hair fall over his glasses. “Yeah, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, tell me.”

  George looks super nervous all of a sudden. Like he’s said too much. I try again. “Come on, George. I moved here from Atlanta. I’ve seen it all. You can’t spook me.”

  “Look, if I tell you something really private, can you keep it a deep secret?” He cracks his knuckles and I cringe. That sound is the worst. But I’m also hooked. What deep secret could a guy like George have?

  “I promise. We all have secrets you know.”

  “Figures with your dad being Reverend Gordon, you’d be cool, too.”

  This makes me laugh. “Cool, huh? Most people tend to put being a preacher’s daughter in the seriously uncool box.”

  George tugs at his jeans legs and swallows before continuing. “It’s just, well, I’ve got two moms and I freaking hate it when people hate on that stuff. Your dad makes Mom feel like she can have her religion and her partner.”

  I do a double take. If George’s moms are gay, then I maybe can tell him about me.

  “What?” He crosses his arms across his chest and meets my eyes. “Never met someone with a lesbian mom before?” He uncrosses them and starts flipping the air conditioner vent. “Say something here. I took a risk telling you and your silence is freaking me out.”

  Now that I’m this passes-as-straight version of myself, maybe George and I could use each other. I could help out Mary Carlson on her date night and if some girl he likes sees he’s on a date . . . well, let’s just say the herd mentality seems to work pretty well for the girls around here. I’d already gotten a glimpse of it at the football players’ party.

  “George, I don’t care who your parents are.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, of course not. There was bound to be someone at our school with same-sex parents. Why not you?”

  “Yeah. I guess. But people are assholes about it. My mom and Cindy take shit all the time. I’m incredibly selective about who I tell. Pastor Hank knows, but that’s about it.”

  I turn onto the road to the station. “Well, I’m glad you felt like you could tell me and my promise is good. We’re friends, right?”

  “Yeah.” George blows the flop of hair off his glasses and stops clawing at the vent.

  “I have a question. Mary Carlson asked me to do her a favor. Chaz asked her out and I guess, well, she prefe
rs her first date to be a double date. And, um, don’t get the wrong idea, because there’s something else I need to tell you, but would you be willing, as friends, to go out to Olive Garden and a movie with them? With me. But you know, not a date.”

  “Not a date?”

  It sucks to hear the disappointment in his voice.

  I park at the ministry station and turn toward him. “Not a date.” I take a deep breath. Coming out to a stranger is always the scariest thing in the world. But when you have a pretty good idea they’re going to be cool with it, it’s also kind of exciting. It brings the promise of true friendship. “You know how you were telling me about your moms?”

  He nods.

  “Me, too.”

  “Your real mom is gay?”

  “No, she’s dead. That’s not what I meant. Me. I am. I do. Like girls, that is.”

  “You?” He blows out a huge breath, then slumps. “That’s a relief, I guess, since it was getting obvious you aren’t into me. But you’re nice and really pretty, and ah, forget it, I’m digging myself a hole.” He blushes. “Sorry if that offends you.”

  “Why would that offend me? You make me sound pretty awesome.” I pause and lift my hands up with my shoulders. “But it is what it is.”

  “I guess your dad’s ministry makes sense now. And, um, yeah, I’ll go. My social life could use a boost, and truth be told, I’ve always really kind of liked Mary Carlson’s friend Gemma. Even if she does call me Harry Potter. Besides, I can always get into endless salad bowls and bread sticks.”

  “There’s one more thing.” I probably should have thought about this before I blurted it out, but somehow I think it will be okay. “You can’t tell anybody.”

  “So Mary Carlson and the others don’t know?”

  I shake my head. “It’d be social suicide up here. Plus, my dad and I sort of have this agreement for my senior year.”

  “You’re right on the social suicide thing. Just ask my mom and Cindy. But wait—your dad? He knows, doesn’t he?

  “He does but it’s complicated. I’ve promised him I’ll lie low to help smooth out things with his new in-laws.”

  George doesn’t say anything for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “That’s kind of insane. Your dad of all people doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to ask for something like that. I get you wanting to lie low to feel safe, but to do it because your dad wants it, that’s big love. Way to go, I guess?”

  Somehow it feels kind of dirty to tell him about the radio show. The whole I-do-this-for-you-if-you-do-this-for-me thing is not the way we usually roll. But then my dad’s never asked me to hide either. Before I can respond, George continues.

  “Hey, if people don’t know you’re a lesbian, and they think you and I are going out, then it sort of ruins my chances with anybody else. I like you and all, but I still have hopes of having a girlfriend one day.”

  He’s so right. I hadn’t thought of that. Fuck. I drop my forehead to my palms and press. “Dude. I’m sorry. Never mind. I’ll tell Mary Carlson to forget it, that you like Gemma.” I take the keys out of the ignition, both disappointed I have to tell Mary Carlson no and relieved I don’t have to watch her with Chaz.

  Halfway out of the car he stops me. “But maybe if we do go out, Gemma will see me in a new way. Right now I’m the geeky white guy in her chemistry class. If she sees me with you, she might look at me different.”

  My hand hangs on to the car door. “You have a lot of faith in me, George. So you’ll still go?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, why not. When you eventually dump me, I can use my heightened social status and nerd powers to win her over.”

  “My manipulative little grasshopper. I think I like you even more.”

  George grins.

  “Come on. Let me introduce you to my dad.”

  Later that night, on my way to Wednesday night youth group, I worry about having told George my secret. He seemed completely nonchalant when I took him back to his car. But I’m having a mini freak-out. Telling one person leads to another and then to another, and soon I won’t be doing anything I promised. “Jo,” I say to myself as I park near the back of the building, “take a chill pill. He’s not going to say anything and you are good.”

  Which is true. I am good. I’m going inside and I get to tell Mary Carlson that I created a double date for her.

  Inside I settle at the same table as last week for Bible trivia night. Mary Carlson and gang are already there.

  “Well?” She leans in. “How’d it go?” Her shirt gaps forward and I divert my eyes but not quick enough that I don’t see a gentle swell of breast beneath a lilac lace bra.

  I swallow. “He said yes.”

  She squeezes my upper arm. “You’re the best.” She squeezes again. “And kind of built. How’d you get those arms?”

  “It’s my other special feature. Better than the eyebrows.” I raise them up and down along with a little flex of my biceps. My arms are my favorite things about myself, and I don’t mind that she noticed.

  She pushes me sideways with her hands still locked on to me. “Show-off. Two special features is not fair.” Then she lets go. “So what’s mine?”

  Betsy, Jessica, and Gemma are arguing over who gets to be the trivia master for the night and I’m glad, because I know awkward and nervous have to be written all over my face. George just showed up, but he sat at a table near the door, safely out of my discomfort zone.

  “Well. For a girly girl, you’re sort of a mess. Crazy hair. Killer golf swing. It makes you hard to pin down and categorize. So I’m going to say your mystique is your special feature.”

  She stares at me a second too long and maybe I said too much, but then that heart-stopping smile spreads across her face. “My mystique. I like that. In fact, that’s probably the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

  Gemma butts in. “What is?”

  “My new friend Joanna here has not only gone and saved me from a solo date with Chaz the handsy, but she says my mystique is my special feature.”

  “Your mystique?” Betsy cracks up. “You’re like a freaking open book. All virginal and saintlike. It’s definitely your eyes.”

  “No way,” Jessica says. “It’s her legs. She can change a light bulb without a ladder.”

  “Praise.” I laugh and raise my hand for a high five. Jessica and I are both vertically challenged.

  “It’s her kind heart.” Gemma is definitive but Mary Carlson shushes them all.

  “Nope, from this moment forward my mystique is my special feature. Because Mary Carlson Bailey is a woman of mystery and I owe it all to Joanna Gordon.”

  “Which brings us back to what you said earlier.” The sharp tack of Gemma’s mind is hard at work. “If you saved our woman of mystery from a solo date, who are you going with?”

  I lift my finger and point toward George.

  “Harry Potter?”

  No time like the present to work a bit of sorcery in his favor. “He’s in my Latin class. He’s incredibly intelligent and actually kind of built if you look beyond his nerdy glasses. Plus, he wants to be a lawyer. Not that I’m looking for anything more than a friend date, but he’ll be a catch for some savvy girl.”

  Jessica and Mary Carlson both pipe up. “You think glasses are nerdy?”

  “No, wait, I . . .” Should have thought about the two glasses-wearing girls at the table before I opened my big mouth. “You both look dead sexy in glasses.” It’s truth, though I think Mary Carlson’s tortoiseshell rims with her dark blond hair work way better than ginger Jessica’s wire frames. Or maybe it’s what’s behind the glasses.

  Mary Carlson keeps going. “But why only friends? If he’s all that and a cup of tea, seems like you should pounce.”

  “I told you before. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’ve got one year here, then I’m off for a summer of travel and college.”

  Gemma pats my hand. “Smartest thing I’ve heard out of any of the mouths at this table.”

 
; “Says the girl who’s dying to get her V-card punched.” Betsy smirks and Jessica sucks in a fast breath.

  “Betsy, we’re in church.”

  Which starts a round of bickering about hypocrisy, and I’m left out of it, watching. Mary Carlson pulls her legs into her lap, cross-legged. “You’re lucky, you know.”

  “Lucky how?” Her voice is low, so I keep mine low, too.

  “Being new. They won’t push it with you, but I swear for a bunch of smart girls, they think an awful lot about the hunting, capturing, and taming of boyfriends.”

  “And you don’t?”

  She flinches slightly. “Well, sure, I guess. But mostly I think about my new driver. Or improving my swing. Or my brother and what it will be like to leave him next year.”

  “Yeah, I can see how that will be hard. I wouldn’t want to leave B.T.B. either.”

  She leans a little closer into our conversation. “Do you have siblings?”

  I shake my head, acutely aware of her proximity and the rise and fall of our breath, which seems to work in tandem. “No, but I think my dad and Three might try to have a baby eventually. I think it’d be cool.”

  “Three?” Mary Carlson cocks her head.

  The nickname, which always feels so right when I talk to Dana, suddenly seems childish. “Um, it’s what I call Elizabeth. A nickname. Hey . . .” An idea that sparked as we talked gives me a perfect excuse to change the conversation. “I had fun at the impromptu putting game the other night. Maybe you could teach me how to play golf?”

  She sits up again, her legs dropping to the floor, her eyes wide and her mouth open in excitement. “Serious?”

  “Dead.”

  “Okay.” She leans in again, whispering, “I can’t say this loud because I’ve known them forever, but between my mystique and your willingness to let me subject you to my incredibly-boring-to-most-people passion, you are my new favorite.”

  I grin. “Best special feature yet.”

  Thirteen

  FRIDAY NIGHT, DAD AND ELIZABETH grill me for the millionth time when I come downstairs dressed in a tight-fitting red T-shirt, a lace vest, skinny jeans tucked into knee-high brown boots, and the gifted gold hoops and goddess necklace in place.