by Tanya Boteju
I’m good! Better now that you finally texted me. :) What took you so long???
I sighed. So transparent. I didn’t bother waiting an acceptable period to reply this time.
I know, I’m so sorry. I started my summer job.
I paused. Transparent, Nima.
Also, I was trying to impress you with my ultracool indifference.
Pause. Send.
I held my breath and stared at the screen.
LOLOLOLOL!!! You brat. You’re lucky I like you!
She likes me! Ugh. I’m such a dope. I could have been exchanging adorable messages like this with Winnow for the past week. Being cool was definitely not cool. Before I could reply, she texted again.
When do I get to see you again? ;)
How about right this second? Instead, I typed: What are you up to this weekend?
Some friends and I are going to this party tomorrow night! Come!
I’d love to. However: Foolish Nima doesn’t drive and the buses to and from North Gate don’t run late. Sounds fun! Not sure about transportation tho. No license. :/
No license! Girl. Ha-ha, no worries.
And then a few seconds later:
If you can get here, maybe you can stay over and take the bus home Sat? *blush*
Wait—what? Is she inviting me to stay the night? After about thirty seconds of waiting for my brain to stop melting, Winnow texted again:
Too much? Ha-ha. Whatever works for you. Just thought it might be nice not to rush back or whatever.
Before she thought I was getting cold feet, I quickly typed back: I’d love that. Tomorrow when and where?
Yay! We can meet at my place. 7pm. 7833 Johnson.
Awesome! Just gotta run it by my dad but should be fine.
Cool. :) Ciao, cutie.
This was one of those moments that had me befuddled. How to sign off?
See ya, sugar! You’re not Deidre, you boob.
Bye, friend! Ew.
Bye! Can’t wait. ;)
That’ll do.
The panic set in instantly. I was going to see Winnow. At her place. And potentially stay the night?
Christ with cramps. What did I just do?
CHAPTER 9
I spent the next hour fitfully imagining all the things that could go wrong.
See how the still-featherless sparrow takes its first flight directly into the feline’s spacious mouth. Notice the tiny guppy whirling down the damp, dark drain. Watch as our newborn lamb’s faltering first steps lead her headfirst into a giant pile of cow poop.
I decided to call Deidre for some advice and encouragement.
“Deidre?”
“Nima, my blossom! How are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Oh sweetheart, I am full of piss and vinegar right now. . . .” She went on to tell me about how a group of eight middle-aged lesbians had hired her the previous night to do a drag tutorial for a couple’s bachelorette party. Apparently “those ladies could drink,” and once they got all “butched up in their menswear, they were full of hijinks. Girl, it was like herding a whole mess of kindergarteners—except with mustaches and beards and a whole lotta whiskey!”
Three minutes into the conversation and I’d almost forgotten every woe I’d ever known. Reluctant to wade back into said woes, I decided to skip the part about my mom’s letter and go straight to my most urgent predicament—how to get to Winnow and what the hell to do once I got there.
Deidre’s only response: “Well, honey, I’ll come get you, of course. And all you have to do in return is cook me some dinner!”
So I had a ride to North Gate. The question was, what should I tell Dad? The truth? I’d never been sure if he knew about my romantic leanings. When I went wild in grade nine over Ginny—suddenly obsessing over basketball and talking about her all through dinner—the only thing he or my mom ever said was “How’s that homework coming along?” or “How’s the team doing?” I don’t think it’s that my parents didn’t care—more that they both figured it was just an innocent, pubescent girl crush.
And my dad being the hippy-dippy type, he just let things roll along without calling too much attention to them. Aside from muumuu-wearing and his fondness for sixties and seventies music, he practiced yoga (it was a sight to see, my portly father in perfect eagle pose), made his own kombucha, and often welcomed guests into the house to the smell of incense.
Oh, and peace. He was big on peace.
In other words, he was pretty laid-back, but I wasn’t sure what he’d make of me—after years of having only two real friends—suddenly catching a ride with someone I’d only met a week ago, to possibly stay the night on the other side of the city with someone else I’d just met.
I guess there was only one way to find out.
When I walked into the kitchen, he was standing at the counter, cutting carrots for dinner.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing some juice from the fridge.
“Hello, m’dear. Free from the funk?”
“Yeah, I guess. Can I help with anything?”
He looked over his shoulder at me and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes. “Oh sure, come on in when I’m just about finished!”
I exaggeratedly rolled my eyes back. “I’ll set the table.”
“ ’Bout time you earned your keep.”
A piece of carrot whacked me in the ear and was swiftly hoovered by Gus as soon as it hit the floor.
Once dinner was on the table and we’d been munching quietly for a few minutes, I threw out a test question. “How would you feel, Father, about me sleeping over at a friend’s place in North Gate?”
He looked up and chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing and taking a sip of water, he said, “What friend? When? Why?”
“This girl I met at the festival. Tomorrow. Because it’d be fun?”
“Is it Deidre?”
Ignoring my surprise over the fact that my dad took so easily to accepting Deidre as a girl, I said, “No, not Deidre. I’m fully capable of meeting more than one cool person at a time. Although Deidre said she’d give me a ride.”
“That Deidre is something else.” He actually looked dreamy when he said it.
“That she is. So . . . can I go?”
“Who is this other cool person?”
“Her name’s Winnow—”
“Winnow?” His eyebrows rose. “Delightful name.”
“Yes, it is. She’s also delightful. We’d be going to a party, and then I could just take the bus home on Saturday. It’s only two buses from where she is—I looked it up on the interweb.”
Dad usually thought any reference to the “interweb” was hilarious, but I got only the hint of a smile this time. He contemplated his french fry. “Deidre is driving you there, but you’re not hanging out with her?”
“Well . . . we might. I don’t know. We didn’t discuss it.” Seizing on his seeming infatuation with Deidre, I added, “But you can ask her yourself if you like—I said if she gave me a ride, we’d make her dinner!”
“Reeeeaaalllly?” He pointed his french fry at me. “And by ‘we’ do you really mean me?”
“I’ll help! We can barbecue. C’mon, Dad—you know you want to.” I think he actually did.
“Okay, let’s make a deal. Deidre will have dinner here,” he said, like it was his idea, “and I would also like the number of this Willow—”
“Winnow,” I corrected.
“Winnow. And . . .” He paused, looked out the window, and cleared his throat.
“And what?”
He brought his eyes back to mine, and I was surprised to find them glistening. “And make sure this Winnow girl treats you like the super cool chick you are.” He shoved the fry in his mouth and quickly looked down at his plate to reach for another.
My vocal cords tightened, and all I could squeak out was “Okay.” He knew after all. And he was okay with it.
After Ginny and Mom and Charles, this small oasis of acceptance from someone familiar se
nt a gentle ripple of calm through me.
One quickly followed by a surge of panic and excitement. I had a ride, permission, and an amazing girl wanting to see me.
Shit.
Fighting back every embarrassing moment I’d ever shared with Ginny, not to mention the niggling image of slanted cursive writing that kept nudging its way into my brain, I tried to focus on the possibility of the moment—a terrifying and thrilling possibility. The kind of possibility that could mean a newer, better Nima.
I texted Winnow immediately after dinner. I told her the plan, and she texted back about thirty exclamation points—each of which poked my heart from a different direction.
By Friday afternoon, I had a whole mob of butterflies flapping around in my stomach.
When Deidre arrived in a bright orange, mint-condition Volkswagen van, Dad came out to the porch and tried to give her a handshake, which made Deidre giggle before she pulled him into a giant hug.
Flustered, Dad then complimented her on her van, her dress, and her hair. It was adorable as hell and I loved him for it. From the beaming smile across Deidre’s face, she seemed tickled by the attention too. “That beautiful vehicle there is the Orange Crush, honey, because everyone wants a bit of this vitamin C!” she exclaimed, snapping twice for emphasis.
Instead of all the glitter and shine of the outfit Deidre wore the night I met her, tonight she had on a simple white summer dress and leather sandals. The golden braids had been replaced by a stylishly relaxed black ponytail. Somehow, even in this casual outfit, she retained the same glow she’d had in sequins and gleaming makeup.
Having Deidre’s arms around me and her lilac smell in my nose released a wave of cool water through me. During dinner, I still experienced moments of mild hysteria at the thought of seeing Winnow but managed to curb them enough to enjoy watching Deidre and my dad banter back and forth. Dad pulled out all the stops by making his famous beer-can chicken on the barbecue, and Deidre couldn’t say enough about it. “I’d go as far as to say it’s as good as my mama’s barbecue, but you know I can’t cheat on my mama like that, y’all.”
“Are you close with your family, Deidre?” Dad asked.
“Oh, well, I’ll just give you the tasty parts. Mama’s still alive and kicking hard a couple towns over, and we’re very close. My mama doesn’t care ’bout my proclivities—she loves my style!” She flicked her ponytail as she said this. “Daddy is long gone but was a beautiful hunk of a man.” She paused, then added, “I’ll keep the bitter bits for another time. No use spoiling the flavor of this delicious chicken, am I right?” Chuckle.
I wondered what those bitter bits were and pledged to ask her about them later.
“And you, Delford? Besides your sweet-pea daughter here, who else do you have lovin’ you up?”
I thought about the letter and then tried to force it out of my mind. I was still in ignore-at-all-costs mode.
Dad swept a curl out of his face, and his cheeks set into a fixed smile as he cut through his baked potato. “Oh, this sweet pea is all the lovin’ I need, Deidre,” he said. The smile remained, but his eyes never left his plate.
Deidre must have noticed this too, because she followed with, “Oh, I hear that, sugar! You must be doing something right, ’cause I can tell this girl adores you.” She winked at me as Dad continued to cut his potato into a million pieces. I adored them both.
After we’d finished dessert (“Peach pie? Good lord, y’all are gonna have to roll me home!”) and helped wash up, I grabbed my backpack, gave Gus a tousle, and kissed Dad on the cheek.
“Remember, you can call me if you need anything at all,” he said.
“I know I can.” I blew him another kiss and climbed into Deidre’s van.
Deidre waved to my dad from behind the steering wheel, then looked at me and said, “Ready, Nima-my-girl?”
“I think so.”
On the way there, I let Deidre fill the Orange Crush with her lively music—allowing it to push aside any talk about the letter from my mom. If I brought that up now, I might lose my nerve. I didn’t want that moment to ruin the possibilities of this one. And maybe some part of me even thought that I’d be able to change what was possible with my mom if I could change what was possible with me. But I wasn’t ready to talk about that, either.
As we crossed over into North Gate, the sun continued its slow descent toward the horizon, and the breeze coming into our windows was heavy with the heat of the day. These neighborhoods lived and breathed in a way my side of town didn’t seem to. The streets became wider and busier, and the signs on businesses were less the painted wood type and more the buzzing neon kind.
If you looked at Bridgeton and North Gate from above at night, it would probably look like a bouquet of flowers—North Gate an elaborate explosion of colorful neighborhoods blooming into one another, and Bridgeton its simpler, aligned stems. Our four main streets didn’t look like much compared with the curving, interlacing roads of North Gate, and we certainly didn’t have the variety of people, places, and entertainment they had, but flowers can’t exist without their stems, and North Gate’s trendy little cafés and shops wouldn’t be so trendy if they didn’t have the small-batch ginger beer, organic produce, or one-of-a-kind gnomes made where I lived.
But I can’t say I wasn’t excited to take a break from Bridgeton and all its quaintness—or that I didn’t have all kinds of feelings blossoming inside my body as we rolled into Winnow’s driveway around seven.
The small house at the end of the driveway looked like it had seen better days, but several lustrous plants hung along the porch, and a bright red gazebo sat smack-dab in the middle of the front lawn with one of those “give a book, take a book” libraries inside of it. I loved it instantly.
As I grabbed my bag from the back seat, we heard, “Hey there, road warriors!”
I slung my backpack over one shoulder and tried to calm the wiggling creatures in my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Winnow, who was hopping down the front steps in black parachute pants and a tank top whose armholes swooped low enough to reveal a very sexy, aqua-colored bra. Not that I was looking. Her hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head and her feet were bare.
Somehow, her ultra-relaxed look served only to magnify my nerves.
Another person (female, I thought, for now) followed Winnow. This other girl’s black hair was shaved on both sides, the rest dyed red and slicked back into a thick pompadour. Several piercings decorated her ears and face. She wore a gray tank top, a sleeveless jean jacket, frayed jean shorts, woolly socks, and ankle boots. Her legs were thick and defined, like a rugby player’s, and an entire sleeve of tattoos coated one arm. I knew better than to stereotype, but I would have been shocked if she didn’t like girls at least a little bit.
“Hey, sugar!” Deidre hollered back at Winnow, and then swooped her up in a powerful hug, lifting her off the lawn in the process. I dawdled near the van.
“It’s good to see you, Deidre!” Winnow said, after her feet touched ground again.
“The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.”
Watching them, seeing Winnow and this other friend of hers, a surge of panic moved through me. This is a huge mistake. Watch as the . . . something . . . gets left out of the, um, something. It’s out of its depths and probably drowns . . . and whatnot.
Winnow looked over my way and met my eyes, which probably conveyed more horror than I wanted them to. Her face grew wide with a sparkling grin and she jogged over to me, pulled the backpack off my shoulder, and dropped it to the ground. Then she wrapped her arms around my torso and gave me probably the most wondrous hug I have ever received in my life. I mean, Deidre’s were medicinal, but this one changed my chemistry.
“Hi,” she whispered into my ear. Her lips were so close, my earlobes tingled at her breath.
“Hi.” I went to pull out of the hug, but she didn’t loosen her arms, so I let mine fall back around her shoulders.
One. Two. Three. Four . . . a
t least five seconds passed before she drew back but left her hands on my waist. “It’s really good to see you.” I swear she was looking at my lips again. And maybe I was looking at hers, too.
“Same.” I had to get ahold of myself. “It’s all thanks to this lady, really,” I said, stepping back to include Deidre in the conversation.
Deidre drew us both into her arms and said, “That’s true! It is thanks to Deidre. Ain’t she somethin’?”
“Yeah, she’s all right,” I said, squeezing her waist.
Winnow turned and grabbed her friend by the arm, pulling her into our circle. “This is Devi, by the way—she’s one of my amazing roommates.” I mentally noted that Winnow used “she.”
Devi held out her hand to Deidre and me for a high five. I thought this was a bit bizarre but went along with it anyway. “Hey,” she said, nodding at us both.
“Hey,” I said.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Deidre added. Then she said, to my dismay, “Unfortunately, y’all, I have to dash.”
“You do?” Winnow asked.
Yeah, you do?
Winnow added, “You’re more than welcome to come with us tonight.”
“You’re a sweetheart, but I have a gig with a couple of adorable boys in an hour. They want to look like girls,” she announced, raising her pointed finger into the air, “and I’m gonna make it happen!” She pecked me on the cheek and whispered, “Just do you, girl,” then retreated to her van. To all of us she yelled, “Now you all make sure you do everything I’d do and more!” She climbed in and honked her horn as she drove away.
I watched her van disappear around the corner, a large portion of my courage disappearing with it.
I felt Winnow’s hand on my elbow. “Come on in and check out ‘La Gazebo.’ ”
Deep breath, Nima. “Wow, sounds fancy,” I managed to get out.
“Oh, it is. Very fancy.”
She picked my backpack up off the ground and flung it over her shoulder. Then she took my hand and led me into the house after Devi. I hoped desperately she didn’t notice how sweaty my palm was.