Between You & Me (16 page)

I'm getting ready to meet you at the movies. Kate is supposed to be coming with two of her friends. I'm running late—you're probably already there. Mom comes into my room with an armful of laundry. I catch a glimpse of the face she makes at the “interesting paint effect” every time she comes in. I can't find my shoes and it's driving me crazy. I'm worried we'll miss the beginning of the movie. Mom is speaking to me from the doorway.

MOM

I think it's exciting how much you're enjoying your theater class.

ME

Have you seen my shoes? I can't find them anywhere.

Mom points to a heap on the floor—her angle clearly advantageous. The mess has gotten away from me. She sits down on my bed.

MOM

And this play that you're a part of.

I try to zip up my sweater but it catches. The zipper is jammed. It won't go up or down. I can't go out with a jammed wonky sweater and I wail in frustration. Mom tells me to settle down and takes hold of my zip. It slides freely up to my neck and I wave as I run out of the room with a protracted
Bye
that comes with me down the stairs.

Skipping the last few feet to the doors of the movie theater, I see you up ahead in front of the movie posters, illuminated in the colored lights and turning your head with unnecessary regularity to look up and down the street, for me, I guess. I spring into your field of vision:

ME

Sorry I'm late.

You smile.

YOU

No probs.

ME

Where are the others?

YOU

Kate called. They can't make it. They're going to a later showing.

ME

Oh. We can go to a later one too, then—

YOU

Well, we're here now. Right?

ME

I guess.

And I follow you inside.

We emerge back into the real world and walk in comfortable silence down the well-lit street away from the movie theater. My desire to be in movies is rekindled every time I see one. I want to be that girl: the girl kissed passionately after evil is vanquished, with fireworks and an orchestra, and it's everything she wants. Not the girl kissed without warning after her coffee-shop shift, with cake crumbs in her hair and an orange apron tucked over her arm. It seems like the
perfect moment to mention Gabe, so even though I can't tell what's going through your head, I jump in:

ME

Gabe kissed me.

You turn and stare at me as if you expect me to continue, as if some kind of explanation for such a bewildering revelation will follow. You still have your 3-D glasses on and I almost laugh. You whip them off, your reaction intense, and I feel instantly defensive.

ME

There
are
people who might want to kiss me, you know.

YOU

Yeah, but I didn't know
you
wanted to kiss
him
.

I hold back my response. I can kiss anyone I choose. One kiss per annum doesn't seem so promiscuous to me but, feeling
surprisingly
vulnerable, I decide not to get into it.

ME

Well, then I'll hold off on having his babies!

I pretend to be amused by my humor. You don't.

YOU

I didn't see it coming, that's all.

Still cranky but you're trying.

ME

Neither did I!

Literally. We walk in silence.

I think I'll still have a run for my money for biggest tramp in school.

You peer at me from the corner of your eye, the way you always do when you're about to give in.

YOU

Not a sure thing, maybe, but you definitely have a shot.

ME

Definitely!

I finally get a smile.

Well, I'm pretty sure it won't happen again.

YOU

Pretty?

ME

Pretty definitely sure.

You seem almost appeased and let it go. I guess deep down I knew you'd be weird about it or I would have told you sooner. We get away with small talk for the rest of the walk home. You pause as we part company at your house.

YOU

Saturday's supposed to be warmer than usual. We should make the best of it.

ME

Sure.

YOU

So, I'll come by your house Saturday morning.

Good way to patch up this weirdness. You wave and leave me standing here, still thrown by your reaction to it all. I'm pretty sure we won't talk about the Gabe incident again.

We've started rehearsals for the second half of the play. Even you're here today, finalizing lighting design, and I can see you settled in the third row. The rest of us are learning how to dance, fifties style, for a scene in act three. Gabe looks like he should be coordinated but he's struggling. He sways like he's playing dodgeball. Mia comes toward us, a soft maroon dress hugging her figure. (I'm almost tempted to revisit my “kiss without consequences” vibe.) I hope she'll reach for me but she pairs with Gabe, easing toward him to soften his posture. I hover, envious, until she remembers me. Then, as everyone else has been paired, she points me in the direction of the only person not already dancing. You. We grin awkwardly when you reach me onstage because of all the things we've done together through the years, slow dancing isn't one of them. Bouncing around like rock stars in my bedroom, maybe, but not this! A couple of people smile, seeing us deflect embarrassment with overzealous puppet sways. I spare another look, still tinged (
okay, saturated
) with envy, at Mia and Gabe over your shoulder, his hand on her waist and, with nothing left to do, we fit clumsily together. Right away, I feel my self-consciousness lift, surprised by how natural it feels. We turn smoothly together around the stage. Soon, caught up in the music, I forget how silly it is that it's you, and for a second, I even forget about Mia. I tip my head back, like ballroom dancers when they waltz, and we swoop giddily around the room, the music lifting my spirits until the lights above us spin and the room
disappears and all I can hear is music and the sound of both of us laughing.

When I wake up, the sun is streaming through the gap in the curtain. It already feels warmer. The November breeze blows gently through the open window and I roll onto my side, stretching my arm out beside me. I look at my hand, spreading my fingers across the pillow. Still in the throes of sleep, and with faint memories of the remnants of a dream I was having, I touch my fingertips to the fabric, trying to remember what it had
just
felt like to believe it wasn't cotton beneath them. I close my eyes to hold on to the romanticized version of myself from my dream. Aware of my hair fanned across the pillow, my slip cool against my skin, I imagine how it will be to someday wake up beside someone, to feel an arm around my waist when I open my eyes. I tuck in my lower lip, thinking of how I want to look when I know someone is watching, and wondering if someone I want will ever be watching. Stretching, I open my eyes to the real world, slip sleepily out of bed, and blunder downstairs to make tea.

I'm pressing down a piece of toast when I hear the bell. For some reason I'm not thinking about who it might be as I pad to the front door. I tug it open and take one look at you.

ME

Shit! Forgot.

It's Saturday and we made a plan. I don't know what happened, I just haven't thought of it since. We stare at each other.

ME

I can be ready in two minutes, I swear.

After another second, I realize why you might still be staring. When you used to spend the night when we were young, I was always in pink cotton pj's. Now, in my sexier days, my new satin slip probably comes as a surprise. It wouldn't have been my choice for company, even yours, and I check that you can't see more than you bargained for as you find your voice.

YOU

Two minutes?

It sounds like a challenge, with an edge that says I might have remembered if it had been more important to me. I see
now how nicely dressed you are, with what looks like a picnic tucked under your arm. My toast pops. I turn and run up the stairs, wondering how high my slip rides up from your angle and, as if on cue, you call some quip about Gabe. When I'm tugging my slip off over my head in my bedroom I'm still thinking that Gabe was far from on my mind when I bought it.

So it took at least
three
minutes for me to find something to wear but when I reappear in jeans and a V-neck, you seem happy enough, sitting at the kitchen table and eating my toast.

You let me finish my tea before you stand up again.

YOU

Ready?

ME

Right behind you!