So Glad to Meet You

by Lisa Super

  She couldn’t help feeling a little sad. No longer coming home to this house would be strange. So much of her life had been shaped between these walls. Now it was another thing to let go of forever.

  Her mom spared no sentimentality. “So when you pack for school, you need to pack everything you want us to take or put into storage.”

  “I will,” Daphne matched her mother’s businesslike tone.

  “We’re going to miss you.” Her mom’s throat stalled.

  “I’m going to miss you, too.” After all, there was a certain amount of comfort in familiar dysfunction.

  All three broke into sloppy tears at the same time, huddling against each other in the center of the room. Something had changed. When Daphne came home for winter break, Casa Bowman wouldn’t be fixed, but things might be better. The gaping holes that had been eroding for years could be filled, stone by stone.

  • • •

  Under the fluorescent lights of the school hallway, Daphne’s face tingled as though she had a sunburn. Oliver’s unshaven face had pressed against hers throughout the weekend’s vacuum of time. Her mind was wide awake even though she’d been up until 2:00 a.m. talking to him on the phone. She had no memory of what they’d talked about. Even after two hours of constant chatter, they’d both ended the conversation reluctantly, though it gifted Daphne with pleasant dreams. This is what love did—woke you up.

  A draft grazed her cheeks when she closed her locker door, revealing Penny behind it, ready to pounce. Daphne jumped at the sight of her.

  “Don’t you look smug,” Penny said.

  “I think you have the wrong locker.”

  Daphne strutted down the hall, unwilling to shift her mood for whatever drama Penny was serving. Penny chased after her, sandaled feet pattering to catch up.

  “I let you and Janine come to my New Year’s party. You owe me.”

  “I’m not breaking up with Oliver.” Daphne threw the first punch.

  “Oliver who?” Penny tried to smooth the bitterness, but the jagged edges poked through her voice.

  Daphne didn’t respond. She slowed her steps as a sign of compassion.

  Penny said, “I need you to write my English essay on Lord of the Flies.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You’re the only person I know who’s…smart.”

  “You’re smart, Penny. Stop making excuses and read the stupid book.”

  “I can’t read it. You know how bugs freak me out.”

  “That’s not…” Daphne sighed.

  Penny’s nose twitched, and her lip quivered. She willed her voice to remain strong. “I’m failing English and might lose my early acceptance to UCSD.”

  It had been a long year for everyone, and a book about the dark forces ingrained in humanity might hurl Penny into despair. “Okay, I’ll help you write your essay. The key word being help.”

  “Thank you,” Penny muttered, expressing no gratitude. Instead, her thanks begrudgingly accepted forgiveness from someone who’d wronged her.

  “But you need to read the CliffsNotes. There won’t be any flies in there,” Daphne said.

  “Fine. Let me know when you’re…free. It’s due Tuesday.” The deal sealed, Penny veered right and disappeared down a staircase, the clapping of her sandals applauding behind her.

  • • •

  Sweetie’s became a purgatory between the present and future where Daphne could spend time with Oliver but multitask enough to not think about the fall. Fall. She worried it would feel like hanging off the rock at Joshua Tree without Oliver there to save her. She couldn’t yet accept the fact that he would be in another state in just a few short months.

  The Sweetie’s haven was quashed one Saturday when the owner, Paul, dropped by unexpectedly. Oliver had been leaning against the counter, his face an inch away from Daphne’s, their lips about to meet. Paul began ranting about health code violations and business ethics. A new no-significatant-others-allowed-unless-they-bring-at-least-two-friends-and-each-spend-overfive-dollars-and-no-touching policy was instituted.

  Daphne saw this as unfair, but Paul had always been kind to her and had granted her every day off she’d ever requested. Luckily, there was still no policy on best friends, perhaps due to the lack of touching. Janine’s weekend visits dwindled, most of her spare time sucked up by Mel. But Mel had track after school, so Janine dropped by during Daphne’s weekday shifts. It was the only time they socialized outside of school anymore.

  “You agreed to write her paper? Schmuck,” Janine said.

  “I’m helping her. She was desperate. It was unsettling. You would’ve enjoyed it.”

  Janine squirmed, small movements against solidarity.

  “What? A chance to rag on Penny and you’re not taking it?” Daphne asked.

  “She’s not so bad,” Janine admitted quietly.

  Daphne’s confusion grew louder. “She’s been your personal Satan for years.”

  Janine took a breath. “We made out.”

  Daphne abhorred double punctuation. Choose a question mark or exclamation point, but you can’t have both. This, however, was a moment where multiple question marks and exclamation points were not only encouraged, but necessary. “What?!”

  “It just happened. She was experimenting. And I was crushing on her.”

  “When?!” Again, multiple punctuation.

  “When my dumbass cousin that you were hooking up with was in town.”

  Daphne’s mouth fell open. “Ah. So?”

  “Sew buttons.”

  “What was it like? I don’t know. What am I supposed to ask? My two best friends were making out behind my back.”

  “She said she didn’t want it to happen again, and I got pissed. I thought she was like me. I was so relieved. And when she wasn’t, I kind of lost it. I hated her. And I was afraid she’d tell everyone.”

  “But you had it over her, too.”

  “Yeah, but it was my truth. Not hers.”

  Daphne nodded.

  Janine still fidgeted in her seat. “She promised she wouldn’t tell. And I don’t think she ever did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Janine had never kept a secret from Daphne for longer than a day or two, except Mel. Daphne didn’t like this pattern.

  “I was the reason Penny left us. I thought you might leave with her. I couldn’t lose both of you.”

  Daphne placed her hand on Janine’s forearm. “You weren’t the reason. We grew apart, no one’s fault.”

  “You’re breaking the no touching rule,” Janine said.

  “Fire me.”

  Janine gasped. “No! How will I get free ice cream?”

  “Okay, but, seriously, how did it happen?” Daphne asked.

  Janine hung her head.

  Daphne giggled. “You’re blushing! You’re blushing over Penny Layton!”

  “She kissed me. I swear.” Janine was still dumbfounded by it after all these years.

  “I don’t doubt it. The girl goes after what she wants. It’s terrifying to be on the other side of it.”

  Janine’s head bobbed in agreement. “No shit. Put it up.” Janine raised her arm and Daphne high-wristed her.

  The bumping of those delicate bones was Daphne’s constant. Seeing Janine once a week, once a month, once a year, Daphne going to Berkeley, Janine going to SC, nothing would change between them. She was as sure of this as she was of rainbow sherbet being the least popular flavor in the freezer.

  “Okay, I need some mint chip, stat!”

  Daphne jumped at the crack of the whip and plunged the scoop into the freezer.

  • • •

  The dread that usually accompanied Daphne as she stood on the Laytons’ welcome mat was partially quelled by Janine’s Penny revelation. Still, it wasn’t entirely gone. Given the intangible power Penny wielded, Daphne knew why Janine had been afraid for so long.

  Daphne rang the doorbell and hoped Mrs. Layton wouldn’t answer the door. Daphne didn’t want lemonade, or mockt
ails, or whatever bougie drink Mrs. Layton would be presenting on a matching platter. Daphne wanted to write this essay as quickly as possible and deflect any barbs thrown by Penny with minimal injury. Hydration would only slow the process and heighten the torture.

  But the lemonade gods were listening; it was Penny who opened the door holding the CliffsNotes. Shrouded in the glow of her allegiance to Janine, Daphne had expected to view Penny in a new light. But Penny’s ashen face cast too large of a shadow. Her eyes counted down to meltdown: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and the tears flowed.

  “They killed Piggy,” she sobbed.

  Sometimes the world was perfectly unfair. All of a sudden, they were twelve again and dying each other’s hair and promising to keep secrets. Daphne hugged Penny and Penny squeezed her, crying into her shoulder. Something in the universe had fallen back in line, if only for the duration of a Lord of the Flies essay.

  • • •

  In a tent in Oliver’s backyard, Daphne and Oliver made out, every inch of their skin creating an irresistible friction between them.

  “I forgot. I have a graduation present for you.” He didn’t bother putting his shirt back on when he unzipped the tent.

  She cringed and called after him. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  He reappeared with a black, globe-sized box with pentagonal panels. “It’s okay. This is kind of a joint gift. Well, I hope it is.”

  “Best kind of gift for you.”

  “Well, Thoughtless, it’s the only kind of gift for me,” Oliver teased. He clicked on the contraption and it clanged to life. Purple and green-tinged galaxies lit up all sides of the tent.

  “Whoa.” Daphne marveled at the outer space surrounding her.

  “Number nine. And some mumbo jumbo about always being under the same stars even if we’re not together. Yada, yada, yada.”

  “So eloquent.” She didn’t wait until he was fully on the ground before she kissed him. He playfully pulled her on top of him and helped her tug off her shirt. Only crickets and their laughter played in the quiet night.

  She hovered over him, peering down into his eyes, his irises dulled with pleasure. “I want to,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t get the star projector to get in your pants.”

  “Well, it worked.” She sucked on his ear and groped his fly.

  They both removed their pants. He reached into his discarded jeans pocket for his wallet and pulled out a condom. “Not saying we’re going to, but just in case.”

  While she appreciated him giving her the chance to back out, she had always been a woman who knew what she wanted. Tonight was no different, and she bristled at the suggestion. “Take off your boxers,” she said.

  Reassured by her annoyance, Oliver obeyed. She slipped out of her bra and panties and they lay on their sides studying each other’s bodies, hot and cold in all the right places.

  “Are you scared?” he asked.

  “A little. More excited.”

  “Me, too,” he confessed.

  “Why are you scared? You’ve done this before.”

  “Not with someone I loved.”

  She scooted over, grabbed the hair on the base of his skull, and kissed the fear out of him. The condom unwrapping and placement survived fumbling fingers and nervous laughter.

  Maybe it was from the avid biking in her childhood or using tampons for five years, but nothing hurt. Awkward, yes. Uncomfortable, maybe. Painful, nothing of the sort. He moved slow, so slowly she wanted to tell him he could go faster, but she worried the instruction would be mistaken for critique. Next time. She was already an addict.

  The twisting of Oliver’s face was the most erotic part of losing her virginity. Between kisses, his face transformed from worry into hope into lust into worship. When he collapsed with the final shudder, she held him to her heart and wrapped her legs around his. This was the closest she’d ever been to someone, ever would be.

  After a few deep breaths, he came back to life, kissing her neck, moving his lips down—across her heart, over her stomach, down until her sharp inhale told him where to stay. With every passing second, little pieces broke apart from her body and floated up to the stars, until there were so many cracks, too many holes, there was nothing left to do but shatter and let the universe put her back together again.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, kissing his way back up to her lips. He pulled a blanket over them, and she curled into his spoon. The sleep in his breath floated across her ear.

  “By the way, I love you, too,” she said.

  He tightened his arms around her. This was how she would sleep. Until her curfew, which was in an hour.

  • • •

  Elliott Smith accompanied the hum of the projector. Daphne lay in her dark bedroom, the previous night replaying against the stars that adorned her bedroom walls. The urge to call Janine and recap wasn’t bold enough to move her fingers to her phone. She wanted to talk to someone, though, and that person was Emily.

  Clink-crrrrrrrr. The metallic zing came from the dresser. The 2006 nickel propped against the mirror had slipped down to sleep flat on its side. The vibration from its sudden movement faded into the thickness of the late afternoon. A sign or well-timed gravity? Both emboldened her feeble bond with her sister.

  She wondered if Emily would like Oliver. He was inherently like Jason, try as he might to rage against it. Would Emily even like her? Daphne had let their mom find the list—perhaps that was unforgivable. When it came to Emily, Daphne would always be ten years old, sitting at her desk, guarding her words.

  Her questions were rational and deductive, but emotion crept in and tears poured down her face. These were important questions, and they deserved answers.

  Daphne hated Emily for a few sniffling breaths and forgave her before she finished wiping her eyes. She remembered that last conversation with Emily, her wink at the list. Daphne concluded that gushing to Emily about how madly in love she was with Oliver Pagano would elicit that same wink. Without speaking, Emily would congratulate her. You made it. I knew you would. I love those boots.

  Number 10

  Time closed in on Oliver. The passing days fell away like a cliff crumbling under his feet. A job at the car wash and its summer tips had been tempting. Opposite Possum wasn’t as formidable as it once was, but Oliver wasn’t ready to step into the shoes of Jason’s old job. Instead, he’d gotten a less lucrative job at a movie theater and spent his days shoveling popcorn into cups only to sweep half of it up from the stadium floors. He didn’t mind the sweeping part because he was never alone and had befriended even his most timid coworkers. He was able to coax conversation from the most resistant with little pressure, and the hours passed quickly from theater to theater.

  It was the shoveling part he tried to dodge. The length of conversations behind the concession stand amounted to someone grumbling under their breath, [Insert Manager] is such a(n) [insert expletive]. Popcorn and soda cursed him with time to think about Montana, fast approaching with its vast plains and rocky glaciers. Lost in a trance of ice cubes and carbonated beverages, he had a recurring vision of a bison pawing the tundra and charging at him. The cold burn of soda overflow on his hand snapped him back to California.

  The opposite of his life had sounded so melodic when he mailed the lone application. He’d been blindsided in the best way possible, but he was still reeling, unsure where to land. He knew one thing. He didn’t want to follow his girlfriend to college. That kind of codependence was pathetic. He was also sure of another thing. He loved Daphne Bowman. He didn’t want to be apart from her. It seemed impossible.

  The only perk of employment was that Oliver’s curfew was erased. After his evening shifts ended, he drove for hours just to drive, lost in contemplation, windows down, night air rapping against his face. He turned home and toppled into bed when the edges of the sky glowed white-blue with the day to come.

  • • •

  The time of departure had arrived. Oliver resisted his dad’s help with loadi
ng his car. Nonetheless, his dad made all of the trips up and down the stairs with him. After the last packed box had been stuffed in the trunk, after Oliver sat on the box because its nook was too small for its volume, after the box cracked and bulged in protest, and after he slammed the trunk door closed with satisfaction, his dad spoke for the first and last time.

  “You’re a man. A good man, Oliver. I’m…”

  He trailed off and Jason’s shadow receded from Oliver, leaving the late summer sun to blaze down upon only him. The warmth was overwhelming, and the tears in his dad’s eyes added to the heat.

  “It’s because of my masterful trunk packing skills, isn’t it?” Oliver grinned.

  His dad snickered through a sniffle, and Oliver wrapped his arms around his dad’s back.

  His dad squeezed him tight and patted his shoulder blade. “I’m so proud of you.”

  After that day in the driveway, Oliver also packed away his resentment for the company name, Pagano and Sons. The dark cloud over the plural was gone.

  • • •

  The remains of eighteen years littered the floors of Oliver’s disaster area bedroom. The walls were untouched, like the single house still standing after a tornado. The blank walls of his Montana dorm room called to him, and they would display nothing from the past. His mom waded through the discard piles on the floor as he dropped a basketball into the final box for the backseat.

  “Starting to look very empty in here.”

  “I’m leaving as much as possible, and I’ll be back in December.” Oliver was distraught enough without his parents’ help. “Dad got me in the driveway. Are you guys tag teaming me?”

  She sat down on the bed, which meant she had something to say and wouldn’t leave until she was done. “Did you know your great-grandfather built all the furniture he used to sell with his own hands?”

  Oliver shook his head and stopped loading the box. He knew his great-grandfather had started the family business, but this was a new revelation in his lineage.

  “Beautiful pieces. A true craftsman. He was an artist who made a living selling his art. It became a business when your grandfather took over, because he had no art to give. And your dad and I happened to love the furniture business.”