Late to the Party

by Kelly Quindlen

  “That counts, Codi. I like boys.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you want to kiss a girl, too?”

  Maritza went silent. She’d gotten more sensitive lately about identifying as bisexual, and for a moment I worried I’d offended her. “Of course I do,” she said in a clipped voice. “I actually think it’ll be better than kissing a boy.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, like … more delicate.”

  “I’d take passionate over delicate,” JaKory said, shaking his head. “I want to feel something. I want it to be like … like the moment you hear a brilliant line of poetry. Like it knocks the breath out of you.”

  “I think it feels like the top of a roller coaster, just before the drop,” Maritza said.

  JaKory made a face. “You know I hate roller coasters.”

  “So? You still know what the top feels like, with butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounding—”

  “And like I’m gonna pass out or throw up everywhere—”

  “What do you think, Codi?”

  I kept my eyes on the TV screen, not looking at them. “I’m not sure,” I said, trying to sound uninterested. I didn’t want any part of their fantasizing; it embarrassed me almost as much as my lack of experience did.

  “You’ve never thought about it?” Maritza pressed.

  I waited a beat. Maritza and JaKory were silent. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I guess it’s like … I don’t want to overthink it, because I want it to surprise me when it happens.”

  They remained silent. Then Maritza said, “Doesn’t that take the agency out of it?”

  I craned my neck to look at her. “What?”

  “I just mean, like … you can’t just expect to be surprised with your first kiss. Some part of you has to go for it. I mean, if I hadn’t dropped those hints to E.J., or made an effort to see him, we never would have kissed.”

  I felt my heart rate pick up. It was typical of Maritza to think she had everything figured out already, but I knew she was right, and I didn’t want to admit it. The problem was, I didn’t know how to “go for it.” I didn’t even know where to start.

  Maritza’s point seemed to suck the energy out of the room. None of us were looking at each other; we were all lost in our own thoughts. Then JaKory said, with his eyes on the floor, “My mom and Philip broke up.”

  Maritza and I looked up. JaKory’s mom had been dating Philip for a full year, and JaKory often gushed that he’d never seen her so happy.

  “What?” Maritza gasped. “When?”

  “Last week, during finals,” JaKory mumbled. “I didn’t feel like talking about it. It was easier just to focus on studying.”

  Maritza and I exchanged looks. JaKory worried about his mom a lot. She’d divorced JaKory’s dad years ago, and JaKory was always fretting about her being lonely.

  “What happened?” I asked gently.

  “She said she and Philip weren’t on the same page, that they had the whirlwind but not the calm blue sky.”

  “Your mom’s a fucking poet,” Maritza said.

  “What if loneliness runs in my genes?” JaKory asked in a low voice. “What if I’ll never experience love because I’m just not compatible with anyone else, like my parents?”

  “Oh, ’Kory, of course you will,” Maritza said.

  “You’ll definitely find someone,” I said, holding his eyes. “You’re too wonderful not to.”

  Even as I said it, I felt a flickering of doubt in the pit of my stomach. If I believed so certainly that JaKory was destined to find someone, didn’t that mean I could believe it of myself, too? And yet I couldn’t fathom how or when that might happen.

  Maritza must have been thinking along the same lines, because she gripped her head in her hands and said, “We’ll all find someone. I just need to figure out how.”

  It sounded more like a wish than a certainty. For the second time that day, I found myself yearning for something that seemed far outside my reach.

  Just then, we heard the upstairs door creak open, followed by footsteps pounding down the stairs. I sat up as JaKory pressed pause on our gay movie; luckily, the frame was only showing the interior view of the main character’s apartment.

  My little brother, Grant, zipped around the corner, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. He looked sweaty the way all fourteen-year-old boys look sweaty, even when they’re not. His legs had gotten long but were still so skinny that it almost looked like he was running around on stilts.

  “Can you take me to the movies tonight?” he asked breathlessly.

  I stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the request. He hadn’t asked me for anything in months, not since he’d hit his growth spurt and started “feeling himself,” as my dad put it. Grant and I had been pretty close when we were younger—he’d even danced along to some of the Celine Dion choreography that one time—but over the last year, as he’d started to excel in sports and spend more time with his friends, it had become pretty obvious that he saw me as nothing more than his boring older sister.

  “Why can’t Mom or Dad take you?” I asked.

  “They have that gala to go to for Mom’s job,” Grant said, rolling his eyes. “They said to ask you. Mom said they give you gas money for a reason. So can you take me?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. Ask me later.”

  He dropped his head back like I was impossible. “Come on, Codi, all my friends are gonna be there!”

  I hated when Grant mentioned “all” his friends. I always felt like he was doing it on purpose, trying to rub it in that he had a whole crew of people to hang out with while I only had Maritza and JaKory.

  “It’s only five minutes away,” Grant went on. “And it’s not like you’re doing anything else.”

  “We’re hanging out,” I said testily, gesturing between Maritza and JaKory.

  “Doing what? Sitting around in the basement like you always do?”

  I felt my face go hot. My little brother had recently developed a cruel streak. It didn’t come out often, but when it did, I never knew what to say back.

  “Grant,” Maritza cut in. “If you want us to drop you off, try asking without insulting us.”

  Maritza often talked to Grant like he was her own little brother. I guess it went back to all those summers she’d spent over here, with Grant following her around trying to impress her with broken bits of Spanish, or maybe it was because she was an only child who’d always wanted siblings. It used to make me proud that she felt so close to him, but lately it had started to dig under my skin. I hated feeling like a wall had gone up between Grant and me, and Maritza’s way of talking to him as if she was the cool, unruffled big sister only made me feel worse.

  Grant took a deep breath through his nose. “If you guys could drop me off tonight,” he said evenly, “I’d really appreciate it.”

  I stared at him. It would have felt so satisfying to tell him no, but Maritza seemed to read my mind.

  “Codi,” she said.

  I ignored her and took a deep breath of my own. “Fine,” I told my brother. “Anything else?”

  Grant’s eyes flicked up to the TV. “What are you watching?”

  “Nothing,” the three of us said together.

  He looked suspicious for a moment, but then he shrugged, dashed out of the room, and thundered up the stairs, shutting the door with a loud snap.

  2

  We took Grant to his movie around seven fifteen. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining meekly as we wound our way down familiar roads. Maritza drove, mostly because she liked to be in control, but also because her car was newer than mine and smelled like her “Summer Rain” air freshener. Grant was unnaturally quiet on the way there. When he got out of the car, he looked around at the dozens of people heading into the theater before he turned back to us.

  “Can you get me at nine thirty?”

  “Sure,” Maritza said before I could answer.

  Grant seemed distracte
d. “Thanks,” he said, sweeping his hair to the side. He shut the door and tore off to the ticket window.

  Maritza, JaKory, and I went for pizza at our favorite local joint, Mr. Cheesy. Over the last year, since Maritza and I had gotten our driver’s licenses, we’d come here dozens of times. The guy who owned the place liked us so much that he usually gave us free sodas, and he’d even tacked a picture of us to the Wall of Fame behind the register. We wolfed down our usual large stuffed-crust Hawaiian while we played MASH on the paper tablecloth, and Maritza and JaKory squealed when they both ended up marrying Michael B. Jordan.

  “Let’s walk over to Walgreens,” JaKory said after we’d paid and stepped outside. “I want to get my mom a card. Or maybe some flowers.”

  “Your cards are the best,” I said, stealing a sip from his to-go cup of Sprite. “What’s that thing again? About words being your—”

  “Love language,” JaKory said automatically. He loved answering questions. “Mine is Words of Affirmation. And yours is probably Quality Time. And Maritza’s is being bossy.”

  “Shut up,” Maritza said, shoving him playfully. “I’m obviously Physical Touch.”

  Walgreens was bright and quiet. We followed JaKory to the greeting cards aisle, where I helped him pick through the Sympathy/Thinking of You section. Maritza got bored and wandered off to a different aisle.

  “This one’s got a strong spiritual theme, which Mom will appreciate,” JaKory said, holding up a beige card, “but this one’s Dancing with the Stars, and that’s our favorite show to—”

  “Heyooo!” Maritza yelled, popping around the corner with a plastic archery bow in her hand. “Look alive, bitches!”

  She shot a plastic arrow at my hip, followed promptly by an arrow that hit a row of greeting cards. I chucked both arrows back at her while she loaded a third onto the plastic bow. JaKory turned on his heel and stomped away, grumbling about us making a scene.

  “Stand still so I can practice!” Maritza yelled, her eyes tracking me in the aisle.

  “Are you insane?!” I yelled back, grabbing a stray shopping cart and sending it careening toward her. She screeched and tripped into the endcap of stuffed animals, knocking several bears in Hawaiian T-shirts to the floor.

  By the time we finished our arrow war and joined JaKory at the register, he’d already purchased both cards and a pack of Jujubes. It was only with the slightest trace of shame that Maritza pushed the archery set across the counter and retrieved her wallet to pay for it.

  “You’ll have to forgive my daughters,” JaKory told the sour-faced cashier, who made a show of glaring at us. “They don’t get out much.”

  * * *

  We got back to the theater about fifteen minutes earlier than Grant had asked. Maritza turned off the ignition and we sat with the windows down, enjoying the warm summer air. People were spilling out of the movie theater, but there was no sign of my brother’s shaggy brown hair or skinny stilt legs.

  It was another few minutes before we spotted him. He was meshed in with a huge throng of kids who were trying to look older than they were. Grant was right in the middle of them, laughing and yelling, posing for pictures and fixing his hair between each take.

  “Such a diva,” JaKory snorted, shaking his head.

  “How many fucking friends does he have?” Maritza said.

  “My dad calls them his ‘posse,’” I said sarcastically, and Maritza and JaKory laughed.

  It was hard not to feel slighted when my parents fawned over Grant’s social life. My dad had been a total frat boy in college, the kind of guy who threw legendary parties and nicknamed all his friends. He still took a trip every winter to go skiing with “the boys.” My mom wasn’t extroverted like him—I guess I got that from her—but she was magnetic in her own way, always sure of how to speak to people, even if she was low-key about it. Case in point: She won homecoming queen in high school. Dad still teased her about it whenever they went on dates. Mom would come downstairs all dressed up, and Dad would spin her around and say, “Damn, honey, you could’ve been homecoming queen.” Mom’s eyes would sparkle, Grant would snort under his breath, and I’d stand in the corner and wonder how I wasn’t adopted.

  I looked hard at my brother, taking in his exuberant smile, trying to keep the negative swirling in my stomach at bay. Then I realized something seemed … off. Grant had wandered away from the group and over toward a pillar, and his mannerisms were stiff and jerky. He looked almost nervous.

  A little current seared in my stomach.

  “Who’s he talking to?” I said, more to myself than my friends.

  Maritza tapped an archery arrow on the steering wheel. “Probably Ryan, right? Or Brian? Whatever his doofy friend’s name is.”

  “No,” I said, trying to make her understand, “it’s someone different. Look how he keeps touching his hair.”

  Maritza and JaKory went still, watching closely. All three of us were silent. Then Maritza said, “Do you think he’s talking to a girl?”

  I couldn’t answer. My breathing was pinched; my nerves were on edge.

  “He’s moving again,” JaKory said.

  Grant stepped into the white lights streaming down from the building. And then, as I’d known instinctively, a girl moved out from behind the pillar.

  She was a skinny girl with braces and long, thick hair, and she was smiling at my little brother in a nervous, timid way. Grant was holding his arm to the side, nodding his head too much, and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  “Holy shit,” Maritza said slowly. “He’s on a date.”

  My whole body felt cold and contracted. It was like the universe was playing a joke on me, and I had unwittingly participated in the setup. While my friends and I were lamenting our lack of romantic experience in the basement, my little brother had conned us into driving him to a date. I knew Grant was growing up, that he had started caring about girls, that pictures and popularity were part of his currency now … and yet I’d never stopped to consider that he was truly becoming a Teenager, and that he might be doing a better job of it than me.

  The girl said something. She looked self-conscious. Grant inched a step closer, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “He’s gonna kiss her,” JaKory said breathlessly.

  I wanted to look away, to hide my face in my hands and pretend this wasn’t happening, but I couldn’t.

  Grant hovered. The moment went on too long, and then it was lost. Finally, the girl leaned in and hugged him. She kissed him hastily on the cheek, then spun around and hurried off toward a group of giggling girls, a secret grin on her face.

  Grant stood frozen. He dropped his head back and took a deep breath.

  I took a deep breath, too, and looked around at Maritza and JaKory. They met my eyes immediately, and it was clear all three of us were feeling the same thing. I had an awful, twisted sense of relief, like I’d just gotten borrowed time on a deadline I hadn’t realized was coming.

  “Should we text him?” Maritza asked quietly.

  Before I could answer, Grant looked our way. He watched us watching him, and his face froze.

  “Shit,” I said. My own voice sounded strange.

  Grant looked away, glaring. Then he steeled himself and walked toward us, his head down, his posture rigid. His friends were calling after him, but he ignored them. He opened the car door and slid into the back seat without a word.

  I wanted to say something, to channel my dad and make a joke that would burst the tension, but I’d never known how to do that. Maritza turned up her music to cover the awkward silence, and we drove out of the theater lot without speaking.

  When we reached the first stoplight, Maritza broke the silence.

  “So … how was the movie?”

  Grant shifted in his seat. “Stupid.”

  I looked at my brother in the rearview mirror. He was slumped against the window, his cheek in his hand. The big sister in me wanted to comfort him, to offer my counsel like I had when we we
re younger, but I didn’t have the experience needed for this kind of advice.

  “Grant,” Maritza said, in a would-be soothing voice, “we didn’t mean to see that happen—”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Grant snapped.

  My nerves were on edge again. I willed Maritza to drop it, to let us go home and pretend like nothing had happened, but Maritza wasn’t the type to let things go.

  “That girl obviously liked you,” she said. “I could tell by the way she was looking at you.”

  Grant said nothing.

  “I know it’s scary to make a move,” Maritza plowed on, “but you’ll get another—”

  “Maritza,” I said loudly. “Do us all a favor and shut up.”

  Maritza looked scandalized. The light turned green, and she jerked the car forward.

  “Just trying to be helpful,” she spat, “considering his older sister isn’t saying anything—”

  “He doesn’t need your help,” I said, my face flushing.

  “Yeah, well, he definitely doesn’t need yours.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “All right, hold on,” JaKory said, spreading his arms between us. “Let’s just take a second. We’re all feeling a little vulnerable—”

  “We’re fine,” Maritza barked.

  “Maritza, stay in your lane—literally and figuratively. Codi, let it go. Grant’s fine. He doesn’t want anyone’s help, and that’s his prerogative.”

  “I wouldn’t need y’all’s help anyway,” Grant huffed.

  JaKory, offended now, threw up his hands and turned away toward the window.

  Grant’s words stung. It took me a beat to catch my breath, but then I twisted around to glare at him, my heart rearing. “You shouldn’t need anyone’s help,” I said. “You’re too young to be worrying about this anyway.”

  Grant glared back at me, not bothering to lift his head off the window. “I’m fourteen. Everyone my age is dating.”

  “Yeah, well, they shouldn’t be.”

  “You’re probably just saying that because you’ve never dated. I’ll bet you’ve never even kissed anyone, none of you have—”