“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. If anything it’s mine.” His arms fold around me; it feels warm and reassuring like my grandmother’s quilt. “We’ll take it slow.”
“You’re not. . . ”
“No. I don’t want to make you do something you’re not ready for, but I do like you, and I think you like me, too. So maybe we can continue this another night. When you’re ready.”
His words warm me almost as much as his touch. I can say only one thing.
“Yes.” Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I can hear the smile in Jay’s voice. “Do you want me to take you home now?” He starts to get up, but I grab his hand on my shoulder.
“No. Can we just look at the stars a little more? Like this?”
He whispers, “Of course,” and I can feel his breath on my cheek. He leans back on the banquette and pulls me against him. His body is somehow familiar and contoured to fit mine. My head lands just above his shoulder, and I tilt my head so it rests in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around me. His hands find mine, and our fingers slide together. Out on the lake, the night has turned cool, but his embrace is warm, comfortable.
We lie like that on the banquette for an hour until I finally think to look at my watch. In the dim glow of the running lights I realize it’s after midnight. I don’t have a curfew, but if I am going to be out past eleven thirty, my mother expects me to call. Shit.
“Jay?” He doesn’t answer, and I realize that he’s fallen asleep. “Jay?” I say louder.
“Hmm?”
“I think I need to get home. It’s kind of late, and my mom doesn’t know where I am.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after twelve thirty.”
“I guess I fell asleep. You’re pretty comfortable.”
I stand up and look down at Jay. He smiles and sits up, his palms on his knees as he gathers his strength to get up and drive me back to Bell Cove.
“Yeah. You too,” I say.
Minutes later we are rushing back toward shore, the lights of Bell Cove directly ahead of us. I’m sitting in the back again while Jay steers the boat. I relax and realize I haven’t stopped smiling. This whole night seems too good to be true. I close my eyes and let the memory of Jay’s arms wrap around me, shutting out the chill of the lake breeze as we speed toward the marina.
Chapter 9
By the time Jay drops me off at the dock, and I ride my bike all the way back to Morgan Beach, it’s almost two A.M. I lean my bike by the garage door, not even bothering to put it away. My mom is asleep when I get home, and I’m a little disappointed. I’m never out late and I’ve earned the trust my mother puts in me, but part of me wishes she’d be like TV sitcom moms and be waiting to catch me trying to sneak in. I know I should be grateful for the freedom, but coming home to a quiet house feels too surreal, like maybe this whole night didn’t really happen.
By the time I’m climbing the stairs to my room, I’m stripping off my shirt. I head straight for my bed, skipping the bathroom and my toothbrush. I barely manage to kick off my cargo shorts before I collapse among my blankets. Right before I pass out, I run my tongue over my teeth and it occurs to me that I didn’t brush. But then I think about Jay and how he tasted against my lips. The thought fills me with warmth and sleep takes over.
The phone wakes me up.
Why is someone calling me before eleven? This is a clear violation of my new no phone calls rule. I wait, and my mother answers after three rings. Good. I let my mind drift back to Jay and hopefully back to the dream that I was having just a few minutes ago.
“Sean?” my mother calls from downstairs. “Are you awake yet?”
I crack open my eyes for the first time.
“No.”
“It’s Becky.” Now I’m confused. Becky knows my rule about early morning phone calls. We agreed on it the first day we met. I roll over and look at my alarm clock. 1:02. I blink, not sure my eyes are seeing clearly. Where’s the other number? It can’t be after one.
“Sean? You want me to take a message?”
“No.” I prop myself up and reach for the phone by my bed. “I got it!” I wait until I hear my mother hang up before I speak into the phone. “Hello?”
“Omigosh, don’t tell me you were still sleeping?! What did you do last night that you’re that tired? Sean! Don’t tell me you—”
“No. Slow down. We didn’t. No.”
“Well, tell me, then! I waited all morning. I couldn’t wait any longer. When did you get home?”
“Uh, about two, I guess.”
“Two! What did you do for four hours? Did you go out on his boat? Tell me!”
“Becky, slow down. Take a breath. I’ll tell you everything, but I just woke up. I need to clear my brain.” I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and stand up. I try to wedge the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I stretch. I slept a lot longer than I meant to, but I feel great.
“You hungry? Wanna meet for lunch downtown? Gold House?” she says. I can tell Becky is trying hard not to reach through the phone, grab me by my T-shirt, and drag me there immediately.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you in half an hour.”
Becky almost sounds disappointed. “Half an hour? Skip the shower and make it twenty. I’m dying to find out what happened.”
“Half an hour. See you in a bit.” I hit the button on the phone to hang it up, and I realize I’ve been smiling the whole time. I walk over to the window behind my desk and spread the curtains apart. The sunlight makes me squint, but I can tell it’s a beautiful day. Heck, it could be pouring down rain and I would think that.
I take a quick shower, using the shampoo like body wash to lather and rinse in one step. No need to repeat. When I step out, the cool air on my damp skin tingles. Jay. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror; I wasn’t in the shower long enough for it to steam up. I don’t look any different. Still the same Sean—on the outside, at least. I find myself trying to figure out what someone with Abercrombie looks like Jay would find attractive about me. I mean, I’m not too bad, I guess. Not having a car means I have to ride my bike everywhere, so I’m pretty fit. I do have nice legs, if I say so myself. But my short, spiky hair is just brown, not dirty blond or sun streaked. I think my ears are slightly too big. I guess my hazel green eyes are okay, though; they’re unusual at least. I’m no Abercrombie model, that’s for sure, but I guess I’m not that bad. I do a couple poses in the mirror, give it my best “sexy face.” Yeah, not that bad.
My modeling session is rudely cut short when a sudden, insistent beep cuts through the bathroom door. I recognize my computer’s way of telling me I have a new IM. I wrap a towel around my waist and head back to my room.
In the middle of my computer screen a dialogue box flashes, begging for my attention.
LuvBug922: HEY BABE!! {{{{HUGZ}}}}
LuvBug922: u there???
LuvBug922: Hellllooooooo?
Why is Lisa IM’ing me? Isn’t she off counseling campers or whatever it is camp counselors do? I could ignore it. Pretend I’m not around.
LuvBug922: Guess ur not there.
She won’t know if I don’t say anything. There’s a gnawing at the back of my throat. I swallow.
LuvBug922: Well, I wanted to let u know that they have a computer here and I get to use it twice a week for 30 mins. I’ll try u again on Friday.
I know Lisa, and I know that ignoring her will not make her go away. I stand over the keyboard and type.
NHBeachBoi: Hey! Was in the shower.
LuvBug922: UR THERE!! {{{{HUGZ}}}}
NHBeachBoi: {{{HUGZ}}}
I grab a pair of cargo shorts off the floor and hold them up to check for stains. They seem safe.
LuvBug922: What’s up? Camp is so much fun! But I miss you!
NHBeachBoi: Getting ready to go to lunch.
LuvBug922: That’s cool. Who with?
NHBeac
hBoi: Girl from work. Her name’s Becky.
LuvBug922: Oh
NHBeachBoi: She’s a summer girl. Her family’s staying at the lake cabins.
LuvBug922: That’s cool
I find a balled-up T-shirt in the top drawer of my dresser and pull it over my head. I decide a change of subject is in order.
NHBeachBoi: How’s camp?
LuvBug922: It’s AWESOME! I have 6 little girls and they’re all so cute.
NHBeachBoi: How old?
LuvBug922: 7 and 8 yr olds
NHBeachBoi: 6 of them in one cabin? Yikes!
LuvBug922: u should see them at bedtime
NHBeachBoi: Bad?
LuvBug922: Let’s just say Cabin 6 is *always* the last one to fall asleep.
LuvBug922: I have my first day off on Monday. Want 2 meet up? I miss u!
This could be my chance to tell Lisa face-to-face about being gay. I’ll probably leave out the part about me and Jay on his boat, though.
NHBeachBoi: Yeah OK. What time?
LuvBug922: I’ll catch a ride with Brad, so . . . the marina about 11?
NHBeachBoi: Sounds good
I find my sneakers under the bed where I kicked them last night, and take a quick glance in the mirror. My hair’s still damp, but it will dry on the bike ride into town. Time to end this conversation.
NHBeachBoi: Well, I gotta run. TTYL!
LuvBug922: Monday! Love you! {{{{HUGZ}}}} ttyl!
I sign off quickly to make it look like I had to leave in a hurry. And then I leave in a hurry.
I try to avoid my mom, who is reading a book out on the deck. My hand is on the front door when I hear her voice behind me.
“Good morning. Or rather, good afternoon.”
I turn around. She is standing in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded across her chest. She is not smiling.
“Uh, good afternoon,” I say.
“You were out late last night.”
“Yeah, I uh, I lost track of time. I should have called. I didn’t realize what time it was until too late and then there wasn’t a phone nearby.”
“Where were you that had no phone?”
“On a boat.”
My mother’s eyes widen just a little, but she’s trying hard not to show any strong emotions. It’s a guidance counselor technique.
“Whose boat? Not your little boat?”
“No, Mom. A friend from work. Jay.”
She squints. “Is Jay a girl?”
I hold back a laugh. “No.”
“I thought you only worked with girls.”
“All girls and Jay.”
“And what does Jay’s mother think about him being out so late?”
“Jay doesn’t have a curfew. He’s eighteen.”
My mother’s head snaps up, shaking her dirty-blond hair into her face. She pushes it back behind her ears. “Eighteen? Who else was with you? No drinking? Drugs?”
“No, Mom, Jay’s not like that. Honestly, he’s just a friend from work.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I know, Mom.” I give her a sheepish grin and look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Don’t let it happen again. And next time you’re out late, I’m not letting you sleep past noon, just so you know.” She uncrosses her arms and places her hands on the hips of her Levi’s.
“Okay.” Somehow by not getting angry my mother makes me feel much worse than if she had yelled.
“Oh, and I want to meet this Jay. When does he work?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” Of course I know: he works tomorrow night. Same shift as me. “I’ll find out for you,” I say. I slink out the door to meet Becky. I can feel my mother’s eyes follow me out.
Chapter 10
I meet Becky in front of the Gold House. Today she is wearing a bright yellow shirt with a picture of a braided loaf of bread. Underneath it says CHALLAH BACK, a Jewish reference, I guess. I’m starting to think Becky only chose to work at the Pink Cone for the brightly colored T-shirt.
“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Becky practically squeals when she sees me. I give her a coy smile and head inside to place my lunch order. “Omigosh, Sean, you can’t do this to me!”
I turn around with my hands palm to palm and give her my best Japanese bow. “Patience, Daniel-san. All will be revealed.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be patient. But seriously, can we hurry it up?”
We take our food outside to the picnic tables by the marina again. Becky doesn’t even touch her food but gives me an expectant look. I have fun slowly chewing on a french fry. Becky’s eyebrows shoot to the top of her forehead and her eyes double in size. She starts squeezing a ketchup packet between her fingers, forcing the liquid inside to slide from one end to the other. She doesn’t say a word. Finally, when I’m afraid she might squeeze my head like she’s squeezing the ketchup packet, I give in and tell her everything.
When I get to the end and the bit about my mother putting me on a guilt trip, I grab a cold fry and pop it in my mouth while I wait for Becky’s reaction. When it comes, it’s not what I was expecting.
“Sean, that’s awesome, but I want you to promise me something,” she says.
“Okay.”
“Promise me you won’t move too fast with this guy.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Well, right now he seems perfect, but you see these shoulders?” She puts her hands on her shoulders as if she was doing some sort of stretch before playing sports.
“Yeah.”
“Well, these shoulders were made for crying. I’m used to playing the sympathetic best friend, the girl who watches and encourages while everyone around her gets their man, but what I’ve never gotten used to is playing the shoulder to cry on when everyone around me comes back with a broken heart.”
“You’re saying Jay will break my heart?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that first love is called first love for a reason. There’s usually a second . . . and a third.”
I can feel warmth rush to my cheeks. I don’t want to get mad at Becky, but this isn’t what I want to hear.
Becky sees that I’m upset and tries to fix the damage. “Sean, I’m sorry. Look, I’m excited for you, really excited. It sounds like a great night. Jay was obviously sweet—a perfect gentleman—and I’m excited that he likes you, that he said he likes you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Well, maybe you should let me take care of myself. I’ve been dying to tell you what happened, and you said you wanted to hear it. Heck, you practically threw us together by refusing to come last night, and now you’re being a total tool and trying to ruin the best night of my life.”
“I’m just trying to put it into perspective.”
“I don’t need perspective.” I grab our lunch trash and smash it into a tight ball.
“Look, Sean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Becky reaches for my arm, but I swivel away off the bench seat of the picnic table.
“Not if what you have to say is to stay away from Jay.” I shoot the ball of trash with perfect form toward the black barrel that sits ten feet away. It falls a good two feet short.
“Hey, another OGT,” Becky says, trying to break the tension. “Bad at sports.”
“That’s not an Obviously Gay Trait,” I say. “It’s just a stereotype.” I march over to the ball of trash and throw it in the barrel. I stand there with my back turned to Becky. Somewhere in the back of my head, there’s at least one brain cell that knows she’s right, that understands she doesn’t want to see me get hurt. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I should proceed with caution.
Becky doesn’t say anything, and I figure out that I’m not the only one with hurt feelings.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning back to the picnic table. “I shouldn’t be so mad.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. You put a lot of trust in me, and you wanted me to share in your biggest secret, and instead I
told you it was a bad idea. I’d be mad if I were you, too.”
I cross back to the picnic table and hold out my hand for her to shake it. “Still friends?”
She grabs my hand, then pulls me onto the picnic bench beside her, wrapping me in a bear hug. “Still friends.” After a long moment, I untangle myself from her arms. We get up together and start to walk down Main Street toward the Cone.
“You want to get some ice cream?”
“Are you serious?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” We start to walk in silence, but then Becky says, “You know how if you eat ice cream too quickly, it gives you a headache?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, ice cream’s not the only thing that works that way. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nod. After all, Becky hasn’t been wrong yet.
After we get our ice cream, we continue walking and licking down Main Street.
“Becky,” I say, “how is it you know so much about OGTs and GSAs and LGBT stuff?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re not gay.”
Becky laughs at me. “No, but I guess it’s different living in the city. My school has had a GSA for ten years. There’s enough gay kids that they buy their own table at prom. The Pride parade passes blocks from my apartment. It’s just something I grew up with.”
I think about this for a minute, licking my ice cream cone.
Becky turns to me. “So, are you saying you know nothing about gay culture? How is that possible? New Hampshire has gay marriage!”
“I’m not totally clueless. I mean, I’ve seen the political ads about gay marriage. I watch Degrassi. I know about the Don’t ask, don’t tell repeal. But those things don’t really apply to me, or to Bell Cove.”
“How so?”
If I Told You So Page 6