I'm Not Missing

by Carrie Fountain

  I led him to my bed and pulled him down. He was so warm. We kissed for an eternity, each kiss pulling us closer together. He moved down, kissing my neck and chest and my breasts. Rockets blasted off in my brain, ricocheting inside my skull. “I have a condom,” he said blurrily. “It’s in my wallet. But it’s banana flavored. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that until just now when I was in the car. It was from the health fair.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, breathless. “Any flavor will do. I don’t think you’re supposed to eat it anyway.”

  We laughed again. He leaned over and grabbed his jeans on the floor and then his wallet. I liked watching him move without his shirt on, his back muscles, his arms, his shoulders. He tore open the condom, but then he didn’t seem very good at putting it on, sitting at the edge of the bed, bent over for a moment while I lay back and waited. I was about to ask if he needed help when he appeared again above me, eager and beautiful. We kissed a long, serious kiss then locked eyes as his hand moved down. I felt fumbling, fumbling—and then an extraordinary rippling sensation, like a giant stone had fallen from out of the sky into the center of a small, placid lake. It was enormous and tiny at once. I looked up at Nick and wondered if I looked as surprised and happy as he did. We moved together. After a while he buried his face against my shoulder. “Oh,” I heard him whisper. And then he pressed his face into my pillow and let out a low moan. It was such a personal sound, pure, like a secret, something intimate and vulnerable and made entirely of him.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said as Nick rolled away and made some gestures I took to mean he was removing the condom and disposing of it. He lay back and I curled into him and felt his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. I looked up at him and he looked shyly down at me.

  “I’ll do better next time.” He was still breathless. He didn’t look scared anymore, but he was self-conscious. “Sorry.”

  “What?” I poked him hard in the ribs and rolled over onto my elbows. “What are you talking about? That was amazing. I want to do that all the time. Why haven’t we been doing this the whole time? I should’ve jumped your bones when you took off your shirt that night in the parking lot of La Hacienda. Seriously. I wanted to.” I kissed his neck. “Let’s drop out of school and just do this. For careers.”

  Nick laughed. “I think it was more amazing for me than for you. I can work on that. Next time.”

  Next time. It was bliss. There’d be a next time, and a next time after that. Lying there with Nick, the next time of everything was infinite, wide-open, a universe we’d never have to worry about reaching the edge of. It was so simple: we’d just be together. College and life and everything headed our way was nothing. We’d walked through this door together. Where I thought we’d find ourselves on the other side of something, we’d instead found ourselves on this side of a million more next times.

  “If you’d like”—he folded his arm and propped up his head—“I could try something.”

  “Something?” I said.

  “I’ve done some research.”

  “Research! I love you, nerd.” I kissed his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me everything you know about Nobel Prize–winning songwriter Bob Dylan now?”

  “No.” He held up a finger as if to say hear me out. “Just.” He indicated I should lie down. Then he kissed his way all the way down my chest and belly until he was between my legs. I couldn’t quite believe it.

  Basically, it was the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced in all my days on planet Earth.

  Every now and then, I lost my concentration. I thought of Syd. I thought of HIM and the phone and my stupid midnight text. But if I closed my eyes, I’d be back in my body again, at its very center, and my brain would be dipped again in honey. It was profoundly strange having an orgasm with someone else in the room. But the fireworks in my skull kept me from feeling too self-conscious.

  “Holy crap,” I said as Nick returned to his place beside me. “Hi, Bob Dylan.” Nick laughed. He was relaxed and happy. We lay quietly for a long time. I wished we could stay like that forever. We weren’t even holding on to each other, just touching down the lengths of our bodies. Together. “I don’t think that’s supposed to happen, like the first time.” I turned my head to face him. “I feel like there’s a chance I might be an inspiration.”

  “Yeah?” He was sort of dazed and dreamy.

  “Like to all mankind. Or womankind, I should say. Superhero status.” Nick busted out in a giant laugh. “And you, sir.” I shoved him a little. “I’m sorry. Where did you say you conducted this research?”

  “The internet,” he answered plainly. We laughed. “Not what you think. There are some very good resources for interested young men.” I gave him side eye. “And a little of what you think.” We laughed again, and I scooted over and put my head on his chest. I was just drifting into the woozy space before sleep when his voice pulled me out of it.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Will you go to prom with me?” He’d said it so tenderly, it took me a moment to understand what he was asking. I was about to launch into my usual denial, but when I looked at him, there was no joking in his face. “Really. Just please.”

  “Fine.” I couldn’t believe I’d said it.

  “Really?” He was clearly surprised too. “Prom’s in two days.”

  “I know. We need tickets.”

  “I’ll get tickets.”

  “You need a tuxedo.”

  “I’ll get a tuxedo.”

  “And,” I said, “I have to check with Quinn Johnson. He has dibs.”

  “Quinn Johnson is literally going to have to fight me.”

  Right then we heard tires on gravel. We’d lost track of time entirely. “Oh god, it’s him,” I said. Nick scrambled up and put on his boxers and started turning his jeans right side in. I pulled on my pants, tossed my underwear into my closet, and threw on my T-shirt. I straightened the bed while Nick hopped frantically into his jeans. I grabbed his shirt and tossed it to him. We were a well-oiled machine of pure panic. I opened the door to my room and turned on the ceiling fan to circulate the air, but because it hadn’t been used in months, dust rained down on us. It looked like a snowstorm in my room. I turned it off. I grabbed my laptop and flipped it open, and within twenty seconds Nick and I were sitting on the floor with our backs against the bed, barefoot, but otherwise looking like respectable citizens, watching the first video I clicked on. It was a Chihuahua doing—oh, whatever.

  “Hello, teens!” my dad called out.

  “Hello, old person!” I called back. I looked at Nick. He was watching the Chihuahua so gravely, it looked like he was watching a horror movie. I elbowed his ribs.

  “You shouldn’t have,” my dad said from the hallway. I heard his keys crash into the bowl. Nick and I looked at each other in terror.

  He walked into the doorway, carrying the flowers, waving like Miss America.

  “Oh. Ha.” I was suddenly sure my room smelled like a banana sex palace.

  I’d totally forgotten about the flowers. I couldn’t account for them. I looked at Nick for help.

  “I got those for Miranda,” He blurted out. “For finishing the prom issue of the paper.”

  “It was a double issue,” I said. I went back to watching the Chihuahua. I concentrated hard. What was he doing? Oh, he was walking on his back legs. And he was dressed in a little suit and tie. “This Chihuahua is ridiculous. You have to see this, Dad.” I snapped my laptop closed. Nick was forced to look up.

  “Cool.” My dad nodded. I had no idea how to act around him.

  “Nick was just getting ready to leave,” I said.

  My dad looked at Nick, his bare feet. “Getting ready to leave?”

  “Yeah. I have to go. It’s hot dog night.” Nick looked my dad in the face, never wavering. It was a disaster. He must’ve realized what he said didn’t add up, so he added, “I love hot dogs.” Oh my god, I thought. Of all th
e foods on all the nights, why did it have to be hot dogs?

  “Oh. Okay.” My dad looked at me. “Miranda?” I looked at him standing there with the flowers, eyeing me suspiciously. Or was he?

  “What?” I sat up straight and tried to look like no big deal.

  “The flowers,” he said. “You need to put them in water.”

  “Oh.” I jumped up and snatched the flowers and ran to the kitchen, elated to have somewhere else to be and something to do.

  “You bring in the mail?” he called to me from the hall.

  “No, sorry. I forgot.” I heard my dad open the front door. I found the one and only vase we owned in the back of the cabinet. I filled it halfway with water. Nick appeared in the kitchen, still looking horrified, and sidled up to where I was busily snipping the ends off the flowers and plunking them into the vase. He put his mouth to my ear and spoke as if we were secret agents on a mission. “The condom wrapper is on the floor on the other side of the bed.” The front door opened and closed and my father strode into the kitchen with an armful of mail.

  “Okay, bye,” I said to Nick a bit too forcefully.

  He was happy to leave, though his shoes were still untied. “Bye, Mr. Black.”

  “Peter,” my dad said.

  Nick smiled, grabbed for the doorknob. “Bye, Peter. Peter. Sorry. Bye.” He closed the door behind himself. I was on my own.

  I looked up to see my father standing on the other side of the island, and returned to arranging the flowers as if my life depended on it. I wished there were more of them. I’d plunked them all. Now I was just moving them around. He folded his arms. I glanced into his face, then down again. I spotted a tiny packet of flower food taped to the plastic wrap. I yanked it off and read the instructions. My father stood watching me. I wanted to climb into the garbage disposal.

  “Miranda. My dear.” I couldn’t look up at him. There was a possibility he was smiling. Or maybe he was frowning. I didn’t want to know.

  “Uh-huh?” I read the instructions on the packet as if they were War and Peace, though there was only one step: Empty packet into water containing flowers.

  “Miranda.” I looked up hesitantly. He wasn’t smiling or frowning, just looking at me. I was relieved.

  “What?” I said. I went back to the packet, looking for the notch to tear it open.

  “You know I trust you.” I could feel I’d commenced to turning all possible shades of pink and red, but I made myself look him in the face.

  “Uh-huh.” It was the best I could do. I thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered, but just then my nervous fingers got the better of me and I tore open the flower food with such force that it exploded, sending a cloud of powder everywhere. “Oops.”

  I never stopped looking my dad in the face. He half-smiled. He was being as kind and as cool as he could be. I was grateful. My dad. He really was a good guy. He deserved to be in love, the way I was in love with Nick. He was young enough. He could start over, get married again. We could be a family. An actual family. My father in love! It was the best idea I’d ever had. We had to make it happen.

  “I want you to make good choices, Miranda.”

  “I’m making good choices,” I said. “I mean, not flower-food-wise. But in life.”

  “We’re talking about the same choices?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m making good choices.” I swallowed hard and forced myself to say it. “Nick and I are making good choices.”

  “All right.” My dad’s face changed. It was as if someone had been bending his finger back to the breaking point and had suddenly released it. For a moment he appeared as if he were going to laugh, but then I realized he was actually heading in the opposite direction. “Damn it,” he said. His eyes welled up. He was still wearing his tie and NASA ID.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yep.” He pulled himself together before he’d produced any actual tears. I was grateful for that, too. “I’m just gonna miss you. When the hell did you grow up?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “But yeah, I’m gonna miss you too.” I felt a sharp bite of sadness. In an alternate universe, I could tell my father everything: the rippling, honey-coated feeling, the way Nick had said, Okay, yeah, I love you too, Miranda, after my stupid planet metaphor. The way Nick’s shoulders made me want to cry and my secret desire to follow him to UNM or anywhere else on the planet. “I hope…” I dusted flower food off my wrists. “I want you to be happy, Dad. I don’t want you to be lonely. You should meet someone. You could have a whole other life after I move out.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m going to live it up in this joint. I’m going to have ragers as soon as you’re out of here. The women are going to come from all over. Deming, Hatch, Tucumcari.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “I want you to make good choices too.”

  “I’ll try.” He nodded. “But for a while I’ll live on beer. And flower food.”

  “These poor flowers. I spilled their food.” I dusted the powder off the counter into my palm and turned and poured it into the sink. “They’re nice, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I love Nick, Dad.” The words flew out of my mouth. I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried.

  “I know.”

  “But it’s so huge.”

  “I know.”

  “And it hurts. Why does it hurt?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowned in sympathy and shook his head. “I don’t know why.”

  I wanted so badly to ask him if he’d felt this way about my mom. If my mom had made him feel this big, pure pain of love.

  “I’ve been thinking about Mom,” I said. His face seemed open to further discussion, so I continued. “Do you remember how she prayed?”

  “Oh yeah.” He brought his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes.

  “Yes!” It made something inside me jump to see him make that familiar gesture. “I used to pray. All the time. Or I mean, I don’t know, it’s not like I was praying to God. Like Mom was. I don’t know. She taught me how. But when I tried, I only ever saw the Milky Way. Remember that time out behind Uncle Benny’s? Oh god, it sounds so stupid now.”

  “I remember that. You asked how far away it was.”

  “When she left, I couldn’t do it anymore. Not even the Milky Way.”

  “I never knew that,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t as embarrassed as I thought I’d be telling my dad this weird detail about my life. I decided to spare him the part about the Gettysburg Address.

  “Huh.” He did something that wasn’t a smile or a frown.

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I would never,” he said. “That’s great. You talk to the Milky Way. I mean, that’s basically what I do for a living. Both waiting for the same thing, I guess.”

  “I don’t anymore, though.”

  “Right.” He gave me a sad little smile.

  “For a while I wanted to be a nun.”

  His sad smile turned immediately into a melodramatic look of alarm.

  “No,” I said. “Because nuns pray. I wanted that. But it got all screwed up, like maybe it was just Mom I missed, not the Milky Way. Or God or whatever. You know?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “But for the record, being a nun would be going too far.”

  I let a long moment pass, both of us looking at the flowers. UNM is so close.”

  “It is close,” he said.

  “It’s close to you.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m so sick of not knowing what to do,” I said. “Syd always knew what to do. She made it seem like things were supposed to be one way only.”

  “Well, you’re not Syd. He grabbed his ID badge and took it off over his head and held it in his hand. He loosened his tie. “You’ll figure it out. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. So many things in life are like this. Like a test. Not just when you’re young, either. Your
whole life. You come to a point and people are telling you what they think you should do and you just have to listen to yourself. That’s what it’s all about. Who the hell am I to tell you Brown is what you want?”

  “Was it like that for you when Mom got pregnant?”

  My father’s eyes bulged. “Jesus.” He looked around as if trying to find backup, someone to help him. “I guess this is the conversation we’re having right now?”

  “I’m not an idiot. And you had to leave school.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I did. Yeah.” He stood thinking a moment. “And damn, yes. There were people, my folks, my father, especially, telling me—telling your mom and me—we shouldn’t do it. We couldn’t.” He looked at me, assessing whether or not he should go on.

  “But you did.”

  “Yep.” He swallowed. “And sure, part of me thought they were right. I was mad. You know. I had to change my life.” He paused a moment. “And so, you know, if you’re asking me if that was the single most insane, ill-informed decision I’ve ever made, I’d probably, honestly, have to say hell yes. But was it also the single best thing that ever happened to me—the best thing that will ever happen? Well, hell yes on that one too.” The kitchen was quiet. I tried to absorb the magnitude of what he’d said.

  “If I go to UNM, I could come down on weekends,” I said.

  “Do you want that?”

  “Well. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll be fine. I might not even stay here.”

  “What?”

  “I could go to the Jet Propulsion Lab. I could go to Goddard in Maryland.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, you know. Yes. My thingies are kind of a big deal.”

  “Seriously?” I’d always felt sort of sorry for my dad and his thingies. I assumed his contribution to aerospace engineering was so measly, the people at NASA were happy to let him languish in the desert, unknown, small potatoes.

  “I stayed here because, you know—you were in school. We were here.”

  “You’re telling me right now you’re moving to Maryland?”

  “No. I mean, I could end up in Maryland. I don’t know. All I’m saying is, you don’t need to worry about me.”