Hello, hello, hello...
It's my last week of classes for the quarter, so I wanted to get this out before the madness ensues. Message to all of you now silent feedbackers: Stop it, please. Thank you.
Enjoy!
Chapter 7: A Very Important Date
I sit on the edge of Kat’s bed, both anxious and terrified to return to my apartment, walk through the narrow hallway with the teetering bookcases and find her sleeping alone. Or worse…
She hadn’t changed in the past five days. She looked at me exactly the same as before-slightly amused and a bit curious-and invited me along when she’d walk the four quick blocks to the closest convenience store and browse the aisles (like it was her first time inside) as if nothing had even happened. Like she knew nothing more than she had a week ago.
Ultimately, she would settle on Pringles and a bottle of obscurely branded lemonade and I would choose the Vitamin Water flavor I had been the longest without and while we stood in line she never looked at me any differently-not once.
This is how I knew for certain that after all this time, she honestly had never noticed. The times I was almost sure our eyes had met as we passed in the hall like airplane lights in a dark sky-parallel and careful- or the one night when our families had the same idea about dinner and I sat several feet away from her at the very same restaurant and I could barely maneuver my fork without fearing she’d finally notice me and I would be mid-bite and awkward when it happened.
But, no. These had all been the best version of things that never completely crossed into reality as I knew it, concocted in my bed late at night when I couldn’t sleep before dedicating the proper amount of time to thinking about her.
There was more Robin, of course. Two nights she had sat in chairs and rocked gently back and forth and leaned against the refrigerator while Spencer rambled on and on about all the work she had neglected to do and “now” felt guilty about. I would have to hear the entire thing again after Robin left, but I would nod in all the right parts anyway. When she was done, she would rustle my hair like some sort of makeshift big sister and retire to her room for the night.
And there’s nothing wrong with Robin, really. Nothing tangible, at least. She always says hello and laughs at my mumbled commentary of Spencer’s easily-translated facial expressions with a remarkable amount of sincerity. One morning out of the five, she left a bag of Spencer’s favorite bagels on the doormat without even coming inside. There was a knock and when I finally climbed out of bed and opened the door, she was gone. Inside the bag was a note for the sleepy blonde (one that made her smile quite widely) and enough bagels for the both of us.
“I’ve been instructed to share with you,” she said in her raspy morning voice, walking into the kitchen to retrieve two plates, two glasses, and the entire carton of orange juice.
“Sharing is caring…until you’re old enough to realize that isn’t always true,” I called after her.
She smiled quite widely at that as well and poured me a glass of juice.
“Oh, good. I love this game. I think the way you win is to bore the absolute living fuck out of your best friend and force her to wonder how much longer the divine spirit sees fit that she should have to endure life on the mother planet with the adorable humans and their deep thoughts and theme parks and shit. You always win somehow.”
Kat lets out a huge sigh and glares at me through wide, dramatic eyes and I begin to remember where I am again-transported back into the present with a jarring welcome.
“Sorry, I’m just really freaked out about this Spencer thing.”
“Which part, Ashley? The part where you finally told her that we all went to high school together while conveniently neglecting to mention that minor little detail about how you were obsessed with her to a frightening, generally unhealthy degree for years? Or the fact that you’re still in love with her and probably thinking of an entire book’s worth of methods for ending the life of this Robin character that don’t end with you in an orange jumpsuit and learning the fine art of high quantity bread baking or how to ferment alcohol in a trash bag?”
“I don’t even know what you just said. But for the record, I’m talking about the fact that I told her almost a week ago that we went to high school together and…”
“Who cares?”
“What?”
“Like, why does it even matter if she knows?”
“Because if you’ll recall, I confessed my love for her in a yearbook that she still manages to have.”
“I thought it was at her grandparent’s house or whatever,” Kat says, sighing deeply, “I mean, don’t they have that shit?”
“Yeah, it’s at her grandparents, but...but it’s not like L.A. is that far away, you know?”
“Old people have it, Ashley. That means that it’s probably being used to prop up a broken statue of Paul Revere or something. You’ll be fine.”
I look across the room, watching as Ottoman saunters in and his belly swings underneath him horizontally with every step of his four legs. When I turn to face Kat again, she’s watching too. Her eyes have softened considerably, and maybe this is the right time to say it aloud.
“Oh, and there’s something else I have to tell you.”
“I feel like Spencer all of a sudden.”
“What?” I ask, so worried about what I have to say that I can’t even comprehend anyone else’s words.
“Never mind,” she says, collapsing backwards onto her bed.
We’re silent for a moment, but she stares at me with a smile that makes her look almost exactly like Ottoman and shakes her head.
“What?” I say again.
“Nothing. Seriously, just tell me.”
I bite my bottom lip. Consider keeping it to myself so that-for once-something can be mine, alone. There would be no one else’s feelings intermingling with my thoughts. Finally, it could all be separate and foreign opinions wouldn’t find me in moments of doubt.
“I have a date tonight.”
“Just the one?”
“No, no. It’s like an actual date.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about right now?” Kat asks, pulling one of her more judgmental expressions out the arsenal and aiming it at me.
“I have a date-with Tara.”
“With Tara?”
“Yeah, with Tara.”
Kat sits up straight, “Okay, so this is the same Tara that you met that one time and didn’t sleep with because you thought she was kind of nice and then you exchanged numbers and talked maybe twice before the whole thing just kind of faded away in about a month-sort of like a Glade Plug-In or a rash you’re not too sure about but just assume is normal-and sometimes you two would drunk text each other but nothing too scandalous because like I said, she’s nice?”
“Yes, that would be the one. Uh-huh.”
“Your brilliance astounds me, Ashley.”
“What’s the problem?” I ask, even though I’m sure I can guess. I try flashing a lighthearted smile and nudging her knee with my own, but it’s no use. She’s Kat-and Kat always makes her point.
“So because Spencer could potentially be happy with Robin, you have to go out and find a bride as quickly as you possibly can? I mean, really? Give me a fucking break.”
“Not a bride.”
“You know exactly what the fuck I mean.”
“Look, Kat. This has nothing to do with Spencer and Robin, okay? This is me…”
“…being a complete idiot. I’m glad you realize that.”
“I was actually talking just now, thanks. This is me trying something different. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But like, I’m allowed to go out on dates if I want to. That’s what everyone does. They go out with people.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s because you’re strange and unstable and you pursue no romantic leads.”
“You can’t possibly blame it on that.”
“I need you to just be supportive for five seconds, please,” I say, burying my face in my hands, “it’s just something I have to try. I have to see if dating someone could happen for me right now.”
“Fine, but you’re ignoring the why. And I hate when people ignore the why.”
“I’m ignoring the ‘why?’”
“Yeah, you’re not going to take two seconds to think about why it is that you feel this need to try dating all of a sudden. You’re just going to try it-which doesn’t even make sense unless you plan on figuring out why you feel the need to do it. It makes the entire thing completely pointless.”
“You think it’s because of Spencer, of course.”
“Of course I do, and of course it is.”
“Maybe it is, but not for the reason you think.”
“Enlighten me, Morris.”
I frown at her, “Stop it.”
“Sorry, it’ll never happen again. Now, enlighten me.”
“Seeing Spencer and Robin has been hard. But not because I’m still into Spencer.”
“Uh-huh…”
“I just think that maybe seeing them with each other has made me want something a little more…consistent. Constant? I don’t know the right word, but it makes me want to try to get to know someone else in a way that doesn’t just involve fucking them and showing them the door five seconds later, you know? Maybe I want someone who actually knows me, or at least something about me in my life instead of this endless stream of nameless women.”
“So you want someone to leave you bagels at your front door?”
“How do you know about that?”
“You texted me that morning and told me because you’re insane and self-important.”
“Oh.”
“Apparently it made a big impression on you.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Is Tara the bagel-leaving type?”
“We’ll see.”
As I dress for my date, I can feel (and hear) Spencer’s presence in the living room. I smile as she clears her throat for the millionth time-which she does whenever she’s trying to make herself concentrate on the ever-present stack of papers in front of her. I’ve heard her chair scrape over the wood floor countless times as she’s gotten up to raid the fridge and walk back and forth to her room and look out of the window at the nothingness (steady glowing street light, woman with a small dog, car speeding by leaving the hum of their car radio in the air like lingering smoke) below and whatever else. Whatever the else is. I can’t know.
The fabric of a short skirt I haven’t worn in several months feels awkward against my legs, so it makes no sense that I move them purposely to feel the awkwardness over and over again. But then I realize that I’m trying to distract myself, too. I’m nervous. When I’m nervous, I want to be bothered by everything. If everything is bothering me at once then I can fool my nerves into thinking they’re a mere bi-product of my sudden annoyance at countless things instead of just the one. The original culprit. And my nerves feel so unimportant and unnecessary in all the bothering chaos that they disappear until they can return and be the center of my attention.
This time, though…this time it’s not working.
There’s a knock on my door and my heart lurches forward in my chest, making it hard to speak, “Yeah?”
My voice is high-pitched and strangled and I realize what it must sound like is occurring behind the closed door.
“Oh, sorry,” Spencer says, sounding concerned and a bit embarrassed, confirming my realization, “are you busy?”
“No, you just scared me. Open it.”
She does so, but slowly. She peeks her head around the edge of the door, her eyes sitting sideways between her hands as she leans against it. I wave her in.
“What are you doing?” she asks, walking into the room with a grin.
“Getting ready to go out. What are you doing?”
She ignores the question, “On the prowl tonight or what? It’s been awhile.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” I answer defensively-because yes, yes it has.
“Maybe you’re just being super covert about it these days.”
“What are you doing out there?”
“Working.”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh, “that’s exactly what it sounds like is going on.”
“Whatever, I can’t help it. I’m distracted.”
“Why?”
“Weird stuff with Robin. It doesn’t matter.”
“Weird how?”
She shrugs, sitting down on the right corner of my bed with a sigh, “Yeah, I don’t know.”
“You can talk about it if you want,” I reply, resting my hand on the top of her head until she laughs a little and grabs it-squeezing hard before she gives it back to me and shakes her hair back into place.
“No, like I’m not even kidding. I don’t know what it is or how to explain it.”
“Well, when you figure it out…”
“Obviously,” she says, stretching her arms over her head and yawning, “so, where are you going?”
“Actually, I’m going to Chez Panisse. I had to con the person over the phone into getting reservations. Ridiculous. I’m not even going to tell you how.”
“That’s sort of an interesting place to pick up women, isn’t it?” she asks with a curious smirk.
“It would be, yes. But that’s not why I’m going.”
“Dinner with Kat or what’s her name? The other one…starts with a ‘K’ too, right?”
I take a seat on the other side of the bed so I can slide my boots on and she watches me as I do it, “Kyla…and no. I have a date with someone I met awhile ago.”
She looks surprised, “A real date?”
“A real date.”
“Whoa…wow.”
“I know. It’s weird, huh?”
“For you, yeah. I didn’t know you did dates.”
“I wasn’t, but now I’m giving one a try.”
“Where do you know her from?”
“We met a few months ago at a party and I never followed up with her the way I should have because, you know…”
“You weren’t doing that then. Following up, I mean.”
“Right, but we’ve stayed in contact enough for me to have another chance. So that’s what this is.”
“Another chance?”
“Another chance, uh-huh,” I say with a nod.
She’s looking at me through eyes that are even more observant than usual and her mouth forms a smile that shouldn’t even technically count as one because it’s so not meant that way. Simply there to complete her look of thoughtfulness.
“What time is it?” she asks after a moment or two.
“Right now?”
“No, what time is the date?”
“Oh, I should probably leave, actually.”
“Well,” she says, standing up and making her way toward the door, “good luck.”
I look up to respond, but she’s already walking down the hall with heavy footsteps and I wave at her pointlessly instead.
I wait for Tara outside, leaning against a tree and watching groups of people stroll by and laugh too loudly and listen too little. It’s already dark out, and the wind is whipping my hair into my face, but I don’t turn the opposite way. It’s waking me up. Making me think of things to say when she arrives and it’s time to explain why this night is only happening now instead of months ago after we had spent the night nodding and smiling at each other like old friends. She had kissed my cheek before leaving and I thought, “No, not just friends at all…”
But I had been a coward because I didn’t want to change again. I didn’t want to erase all that I had worked so hard to preserve just to spend my time wanting and needing all like I had so desperately before.
“Hi,” she says, walking up behind me and grabbing my hand, “sorry I’m late.”
I recover from the shock as quickly as I can, “I’m months late, so I think I’ll go easy on you for the five minutes.”
The tables are intimate and our knees touch more than once as she updates me on the months I’ve missed. She doesn’t seem bitter, and I remember that I had liked that about her immediately-she was the type to understand instead of dismiss.
“What about you? Still entertaining bed warmers?” she asks with a smile before taking a sip from her water glass.
“I’m living in a new place now and I feel a little weird bringing my souvenirs back home with me for her to see.”
“Who’s her?”
I shake my head, realizing that I had forgotten to even explain about Spencer, “Sorry, my new roommate.”
“Since when do you care?”
“When I moved into this place I promised her there wouldn’t be a lot of women coming in and out of the apartment.”
“She had heard about you then? Or she knew you before?”
“She had heard. But you know what? She actually…we went to high school together too. But she doesn’t remember me, so…”
“That’s kind of strange, huh?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“But you remembered her?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then you must have been a very different Ashley Davies in high school. Because now it’s the opposite, mostly.”
“Quite a bit different,” I admit, before forgetting that admitting to my former persona isn’t something I’ve allowed myself to do lately.
“Explains you.”
“Explains me?”
“It explains you a little more, right? Why you’re the way you are now?”
“How am I now?”
“Now, you’re the type of Ashley who doesn’t call a girl she likes because she’d rather fuck around and never have to let people in.”
“And you know me so well…”
“All I know is that you don’t call, and that you liked me so there’s no reason you shouldn’t.”
“Fair enough.”
“But if you’re willing to respect this promise you made to your roommate then maybe you’re letting her in.”
“It’s not like that. Spencer and I are just friends and yeah, I respect her. I can respect someone and not need it to be more than a friendship, right?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that it was ‘like that.’ I was just saying that maybe you’re letting people in more these days. After all, here we are breaking bread,” she says, taking a bite of her sourdough for emphasis, “it’s good, Ashley. I like it. Maybe this Spencer could be what you needed all along.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod once, “Let’s get some more bread.”
We end with just a kiss, which she gives me after I’ve walked her to her car. It’s short, but nice and she buries her face in my neck for just a moment and inhales before sliding into the driver’s seat and making me swear that I’ll call her soon. I tell her yes-meaning it-and she shuts her door with a wide smile that makes me panic immediately.
There’s the part of me that says, “don’t bring her into your mess,” but I ignore it and the panic subsides eventually. It’s just a memory by the time I open the front door of the apartment and find Spencer and Robin making out on the couch, illuminated by the mild light of burning candles.
They don’t notice me for several seconds and I want to turn away while I still can, but I don’t. Instead, I become transfixed on the way Spencer keeps her right hand on her heart while she leans into Robin and it seems like some sort of precaution. I’m still watching that hand when she pulls back and my eyes travel up and into hers.
“Shit!” she yells, relocating to the end of the couch and Robin turns around to find out why.
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“No, no, no! I’m sorry. I thought you’d be out all night.”
“It was just a date.”
“I know, but…you know,” she says, standing up and glancing back and forth between me and Robin as though she’s suddenly very lost, “anyway, sorry. We’ll be in my room now, so…yeah.”
She grabs Robin’s hand-who remains silent and clearly confused throughout the entire exchange-and practically drags her down the hall.
I’m frozen in the doorway for a moment before moving to blow out the candles. On the last one, I hear my phone chime in my purse and I fumble for it as the room is shrouded in darkness.
I pause and take a deep breath, sorting myself out before I slide my phone lock to the right and press “view.”
It’s a text from Tara, block lettering against the bright light of the screen: Soon, Ashley. I had a perfect time.
The room is once again aglow.