So Glad to Meet You

by Lisa Super

  “Whatever we’re doing, it’s important. It means something.” He glanced down, unwilling to beg to her face. Oliver wasn’t ready to let go, but he wasn’t ready to hold on.

  “I think I’ve gotten everything I can get from the list. It’s been…” She didn’t owe him absolution or contempt. “You know what it’s been.” She looked straight at him, neither happy nor sad, but no longer bitter. It was the least she could do for Oliver, Emily, Jason, and herself.

  “Give me some more time. To figure things out.” His eyes were still in the dirt.

  “What things?”

  “About dating…seeing…you.”

  “Oliver, I’m not big on ultimatums, but if you wanted to be with me, you’d already know. I’ve accepted that. It’s time to move on. For both of us.”

  “I’m complicated.”

  “You’re not that complicated.” She smirked at him, a smirk from the past with no subtext, all in good humor.

  He craned his neck, acknowledging one of his many flaws.

  The ride home was quiet, but it wasn’t the airtight seal of recent car rides. The air between them blew mild amidst the melancholy wafts of uncertainty coming from the vents. The list was over. Something new had to begin for both of them, and neither of them knew what that would be.

  Daphne received the answer when she emptied her mailbox that evening. One of the items was a fat packet addressed to her from The University of California, Berkeley. It should have been the happiest moment in her life. Instead, all of her energy, positive and negative, had been exhausted on Oliver Pagano: trying not to be angry with him or upset at herself for giving up on him, stamping down the warm dust that fluttered through her whenever the sound of his voice crossed her mind, trying to prepare for the devastation of seeing him with Penny at prom.

  As Daphne reached her front door, she recouped a piece of her joy. Berkeley was her ticket out. No more parents, no more Oliver, no more L.A. desert masquerading as an oasis. In four months, she would be in a land of redwoods and bridges and rain and seasons.

  The sound of her parents’ muffled arguing from their bedroom further validated her future relocation. In response to her mother’s condescending Of courses and Typicals, Daphne’s dad said phrases that included Can’t afford it and Debt and Mortgage.

  “What about Daphne?” her dad asked.

  “What about her? She’ll be fine,” her mom snapped.

  The rest of the argument was too garbled for Daphne to hear. She closed her bedroom door and buried herself under the covers with Elliott Smith. She would take out every student loan herself if it meant escaping out from under the roof that held together these miserable rooms, the ghost of Emily around every corner.

  • • •

  Daphne zipped up her prom dress, a purchase made based on the best sale price to lack-of-hideousness ratio. In the end, a simple blue-silver sheath had been the standout. In certain lighting scenarios, it matched her eyes. Daphne liked how different it made her feel, elegant and sophisticated, two words her usual style never evoked. She paired the dress with nude heels and a carefully curated assortment of chunky necklaces that would make Iris Apfel proud.

  She applied a more natural version of makeup than she normally wore and tried to convince herself that it wasn’t for Oliver. It was for a change. Lots of photos would be snapped tonight, and it would be good to show off her natural beauty, though she still doubted its existence.

  While meticulously blending her eyeshadow and highlighting her cheeks, Daphne saw Emily through her reflection. Her sister never made it to senior prom. The rational part of Daphne’s brain told her that she was far more fortunate than Emily. She wasn’t tortured in the same way. The parts of Emily’s neurology that dangled like a broken rope bridge were (mostly) connected in Daphne’s brain. Her thoughts could safely cross back and forth in her mind. Even though her life wasn’t going to follow the scenic hike that flashed through her daydreams, there was a calm voice somewhere deep inside telling her that it was going to be okay. She never felt any temptation to end it all. The only times she never wanted to wake up were the nights she cried herself to sleep. But she always awoke refreshed and ashamed of her morbid wish. If a night’s dreams could wipe a day away, she could only imagine what a couple years at Berkeley would do.

  Still, there was that irrational part of her brain, the part that ran on passion and jealousy. The part that saw Romeo and Juliet as fifty percent romance and fifty percent tragedy. It casually whispered how lucky Emily had been in high school. She’d had a boyfriend who’d spent every moment beyond sleep and school with her.

  Emily and Jason watch a movie on the couch. The white-blue light from the screen flashes on their faces. Jason’s arm wraps around her; she doesn’t need a blanket. She nestles her head into the crook of his shoulder and he rests his chin on her head.

  In the end, they had loved each other so much, their illness so in sync, that they’d chosen to die together. Why did Emily get to have that love, but she didn’t?

  The sun caught the edge of the 2006 nickel on the right side of her dresser. White light lasered into the mirror and blinded her. Daphne slid the nickel to the left. The sound of smooth metal against lacquered wood was satisfying on this dismal day. She propped the nickel against the mirror, Jefferson at ninety degrees. Above him, her face looking back from the mirror was incomplete.

  Oh, fuck it.

  She blotted on the oxblood lipstick and felt like herself.

  The moment Daphne climbed in the limo bus and saw The Drama Crew and Janine, her dread melted away. Holly, Macy, Anna, Danielle, and Janine looked like different, more enhanced versions of themselves in colorful dresses and prim up-dos, and Kyle was dapper in a tux. The group cheered her entrance and adorned her with a tiara before she could refuse.

  Prom was like any other dance—not so different from any other day at school, really. Removed from the classroom, the class clowns still carried on with their attention-seeking antics, the jocks were still jocks, the geeks still geeks. Fancy clothes changed nothing.

  The first thing Daphne did was search for Oliver and Penny under the guise of dancing with The Drama Crew. They were easy to spot in the middle of the dance floor. Daphne took a moment to soak them in, admire the flawless fit of Oliver’s tux, the crisp edges of his bowtie, his jawline catching the glow of the disco ball.

  Janine brushed up against Daphne. “You’re torturing yourself.”

  “No, I’m facing my torture and accepting it, so it won’t be torture. There, it’s done.” She turned to Janine. “How about you?”

  “I don’t think Mel’s coming. She’s not so far in the back of the closet that she’d come with a guy for cover. Would she? Man, I didn’t even think about that. Thanks.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Daphne apologized.

  Janine twirled her around. As Daphne spun away she tripped over a pair of feet, stumbled, and was steadied by a firm pair of hands gripping her arms. Oliver’s face beamed down at her.

  “Two left feet,” she conceded.

  “Bad for dancing.”

  “And Jimmy Choos.” She winced after saying it. The last thing she wanted was to ruin her own night by picking a fight with her nondate.

  His face took on a serious tone, but he hadn’t come to fight, either. “Daphne Bowman, quickest tongue in the West. You look…stunning.”

  Her skin went hot and bright red.

  “You like how I ignored the Jimmy Choo comment?” he teased.

  “Like how I ignored your fake compliment?” She smiled.

  “Not fake. And not generic,” he reprimanded her.

  “You didn’t wear the chicken suit. Big miss.” She shook her head. “You look hideous.”

  Penny slid up to Oliver and snaked her arm around him. “I think he looks pretty damn handsome.”

  “There, it’s decided.” Daphne winked at Oliver, the same wink she tossed him when she snuck out of work. The wink from slippery shrimp and Thanksgi
ving, a lifetime ago. The spark of recognition in his eyes made Daphne’s stomach bubble, a sensation that cued her exit. With a bizarre combination of the sprinkler and the moonwalk, Daphne shimmied over to Janine.

  “That was hot.” Janine snickered. “The dancing, not the weird ménage à trois.”

  “That was my Patronus dancing. Watch all the boys come flocking. Wait for it…”

  “They’ll get here. Just might not be tonight.”

  “Maybe they’ll be waiting when I get back from the bathroom.” Daphne did more of her sprinkler-moonwalk while scooting off the dance floor. She could still hear Janine snort from twenty feet away.

  In the restroom, Daphne found herself hurrying, anxious to get back out on the floor. Despite being dateless, the night was shaping up to be fun, and Oliver was simply another body, another faceless penguin blurred by music. When she exited the stall, ready to repel whatever the dance floor might throw at her, a figure in red waited near the door. It took Daphne a couple seconds to notice that all the stalls were open. She was alone in the bathroom with Penny Layton.

  Penny laid menacing eyes on Daphne. “You said there was nothing between you and Oliver.”

  Daphne washed her hands. This conversation was so fun the first time, it must be had again! Daphne punched the soap dispenser as though it had wronged her. “No, I said we weren’t hooking up. Whatever is between us, is between us.”

  Daphne shook the excess water off her hands and stepped toward the door. Penny lurched sideways to block her exit. “Oly told me about the list.”

  The betrayal cut Daphne to the core. She hadn’t even told Janine about the list in any detail. Wasn’t it enough that Oliver and Penny were sucking face and probably much more? Now Oliver had given away the only part of him that Daphne possessed.

  “What did he say?” Daphne didn’t mean to ask the question out loud. It was supposed to remain between her ears, pounding back and forth to the beat of injustice.

  “That’s between us.” Defensiveness trembled through Penny’s voice, a frailty Daphne could easily identify because she’d heard it in her own voice so many times. It was all so ironic. Daphne couldn’t keep herself from laughing, a full, rough cackle.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Penny tried to sound superior, but intimidation tinged her question.

  Penny’s doubt only fueled Daphne’s laughter. Here she was, spending her prom cornered in a bathroom by the dance captain. Penny’s prettiness and popularity had unraveled, her insecurity laid bare. This is what Oliver Pagano did to girls without even trying. Daphne’s own emotional threads from Oliver were still frayed.

  “He’s here with you. What more do you want? You’re Penny freaking Layton.” Daphne pushed past Penny, not hard enough to knock her over, but hard enough to let her know that the conversation was finished, and Penny’s pom-poms couldn’t save her.

  Daphne raced out onto the dance floor and lost herself in her circle of friends, jumping up and down to the beat of the bass, one song dissolving into the next. She was jarred into the present time and space when the percussion dropped out and the music slowed to a romantic sway. The Drama Crew grumbled to each other and crept off the dance floor, making space for the couples of the night.

  At the edge of the dance floor, out of the corner of Daphne’s eye, a set of fingers tapped on Janine’s shoulder. Daphne and Janine turned around to see Mel, a vision in white, the crown of her blonde hair and bangs swept into a pompadour. She nervously scratched the lower half of her head, which was shaved.

  “Wanna dance?” Mel’s face was a diorama of emotions. Awe tightened her forehead, wonder glittered in her eyes, her cheeks glowed with three shades of embarrassment, and her lips pursed in anxiety. Janine might say no.

  Daphne watched Janine’s face. She thought of ten wisecracks Janine would make if she saw this romantic display happening to someone else. Presently, Janine’s brain was in emotional overload. Her entire body froze. All that came out was a sluggish nod. It was enough. Janine took Mel’s hand and they moved to the dance floor, the slow song pushing them together and holding them tightly.

  Janine’s triumph warmed Daphne. The other girls and Kyle cooed, and for ten seconds all was right with the world. Holly leaned over to Daphne. “Best prom ever.”

  The description was accurate. For all her erroneous, silly, and masochistic notions about romance, Daphne still had the ability to be pleasantly surprised. Just then, an even larger surprise stepped in front of her. Oliver held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  She examined his face, thinking she might have imagined his words. His eyes held that tarnished glimmer that only shone when he told the dark, absolute truth.

  “I don’t know, I have to check my card. It’s pretty full.” She should have said yes. Simple, direct, easily translatable. Every cell in her body screamed yes at a rate five times her heartbeat. Instead, she’d blurted out the usual sarcasm like an asshole Jane Austen. Noticing Penny’s red silhouette looming in the distance, she corrected herself. “Okay, I think I’m available.”

  Oliver led her to the middle of the floor. She clasped her hands around his neck and rested her cheek against his chest. Where she belonged. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they swayed like this until the final chorus.

  Oliver loosened his hold and Daphne lifted her face from the pectoral pillow. The disco ball cast colorful trapezoids on his face. His mouth struggled in an effort to smile or speak or kiss her, Daphne couldn’t tell. The slow music bled into “Jump Around” and the bodies around them multiplied and flailed up and down. The door to the moment was closing. Daphne looked up at Oliver and pled for him to hold it open. Do something, anything.

  But the door was heavy, and he crumpled against its weight. “Song’s over.” The last of his fingers lifted off her hips. He began to shift with the current around him. “It’s not about the song.” The dullness in his eyes cleared to amber, and he devolved into another meathead jumping up and down to a song that was older than all of them. “Come on, jump!”

  She took a step back and he touched her arm. His jumping didn’t miss a beat. “No, stay. Come on.”

  She yelled over the music. “Maybe it is about the song.”

  “Daph…” Oliver stopped. He didn’t know what to say.

  Daphne read the small lines in his forehead. He knew what he should say, and he knew what he wanted to say. Floating around behind his skull were two conflicting statements, so he said nothing. His unspoken lie and truth whipped around her until the notions of each were evaporated by the shrill bleating of the song. Daphne’s pulse rattled in her chest. She was furious for allowing herself to be sucked into the Oliver vortex yet again.

  Meanwhile, Penny put her dance skills to good use and bounced through the crowd. She appeared at Oliver’s side like a magic trick, the big reveal. The dance floor was all smoke and mirrors. Now Daphne could see all the illusions crystal clear. The reflecting light of the disco ball illuminated the truth. “My card’s full. So is yours,” She turning on her heel.

  Daphne bobbed with the music through the crowd to Janine, Mel, and the rest of her group of thrashing kangaroos. She wasn’t ready to headbang yet, but their vitality was infectious and welcome. With each hop, her heart calmed. With each push off the ground, she pumped air into her deflated self.

  Run With the Bulls

  Oliver kept jumping. He hoped by remaining in constant motion, he wouldn’t feel Daphne’s rejection twisting against his ribs. With each landing, the shame that accompanied whatever he’d been trying to accomplish on the dance floor eased a bit more off his shoulders.

  Maybe he wanted a girlfriend, wanted an Emily.

  Oliver jumped higher to knock the thought away. He wasn’t Jason. He never wanted an Emily. But his mind countered itself like a kung fu master, blocking his best attacks. Daphne wasn’t Emily. It was ridiculous to compare the two. One was alive, and one was buried with his brother.

  Oliver’s remorse also stemmed f
rom the extinguished glimmer in Daphne’s eyes, from understanding that he’d failed her yet again. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him anymore. He’d done nothing but try to drive her away, and he’d succeeded. Besides baseball, it was the only sport he’d ever been good at.

  He didn’t have to dwell for long. Penny maneuvered herself into him. Their bodies brushed against each other as gravity pulled them to the ground. Their shared rhythm softened his knees so he couldn’t jump as high, but Penny continued to jump higher, propelling herself upwards. He couldn’t tell if she was a skilled jumper or if it was a power play designed to make him feel inferior. He’d practically ditched Penny at her own prom. This whole night was making Oliver question his standing as a decent human being.

  “You like her,” Penny shouted over the music, neither teasing nor accusing, a statement mixed with a question, delivered with an air of sexiness. Oliver got the sense that Penny had played these romantic games before. She might even be better at them than him, and he felt an odd sense of security.

  “I’m not gonna lie, I like a lot of things.” He cringed at his own statement. He’d turned into one of those smarmy guys who said smarmy things to salvage smarmy situations.

  The smarminess passed through Penny without evoking any decipherable expression. Perhaps she was immune. “It doesn’t look like she’s interested. And I like a lot of things, too. The things that are jumping right in front of me.”

  Oliver appreciated her confidence. It reminded him of his own—bold and slightly false. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.

  “More than anything.” The line sounded like she pulled it out of her back pocket every time the opportunity presented itself, which was too often. Without thinking more deeply into it, Oliver took Penny’s hand and led her to the nearest exit. He refused to turn and see if Daphne caught them leaving. He didn’t want to be pelted with her smugness from across the room, nor did he want to witness her not noticing.