#my chopsticks are really tiny that’s why i had to hold ‘em so low

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 6: orchids, stars, and polar bear turds

Friday, June 29th, 1990

Okay, okay, suck it up, you coward, you can’t hide in this bathroom all day eavesdropping. You know he’s stalling and waiting for you to come back to your desk… I mean, no one in their right mind actually just comes by to talk to Greta. I’ve been ducking him all week, but it’s starting to become obvious. Ugh, you’re such a fucking chicken. You can do this. Go. Go. GO!

I open the restroom door and walk around the corner and see Jake engaged in polite conversation with my bridge troll of a supervisor. He’s been listening intently as she drones on about her commute, smiling and adding his own quips about the traffic on I-5, offering the occasional helpful suggestion for an alternate route or a book on tape she might try to help pass the time. I’m dying inside just having listened to her diatribe for a couple minutes, but if he’s feeling the same desperation, none of it shows on his face.

All the same, he grins and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees me, so maybe he is actually grateful to have an escape from Greta. “Lucy! I’ve been looking for you!”

I try for a smile, but I’m sure it’s more of a wince. We both know I’ve been dodging him ever since the Strawberry Incident. It was so sweet of him. So sweet, and so poorly timed. He’s everything I always thought I wanted in a guy – hey, Mom and Dad, here’s that charming, handsome doctor son-in-law you ordered! – except that he’s kind of… too perfect? Is that possible? Can someone be too perfect to be interesting?

“Hey, Jake.” Greta grunts at me and scuttles off, sensing that her attentive audience has evaporated.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” he beams. “I’ve been wondering if you saw my package.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks and internally curse Cora for being such a bad influence on me. He doesn’t seem to notice he’s said anything funny, so I get a grip, although once the giggles pass, my heart’s still in cornered panicked rabbit mode. “Yeah, uh, the strawberries? Yeah, thanks! We loved them.”

“We?” His smile falters for a nanosecond.

“Oh yeah, a couple of the nurses and I, even Greta. They were delicious.”

He chuckles. “You’re sweet to share them. I was just, uh, thinking of you. I do that a lot, actually…”

Here it comes. Can’t dodge it forever. God, I want to puke.

He goes on. “I was actually thinking we might go out sometime, maybe get some dinner?”

“Oh, uh, Jake, you’re… that’s so sweet of you, really…uhm, I would, but I’m sort of… I’m seeing someone…?” It feels so odd rolling off my tongue, but even after just one week of knowing Jeff, it’s hard to deny that something significant has changed. First, he tracked down my apartment, then I stopped by the Raison d’Etre to spend some time with him after one of his shifts, and tomorrow we have an actual, scheduled, non-stalker-y date. I haven’t had much room in my head for anything else.

I brace for the awkwardness, or maybe even the defensive mockery or insult that usually comes with turning down a guy in my experience. But Jake just blinks before hitching his good-natured smile back into place, and I’m flooded with relief tinged with guilt. Why does he have to be so fucking nice?

“That’s great! I didn’t know that! Of course, girl like you, you must be swatting us away.”

I open my mouth to explain why he’s so wrong, how atypical any of this suitor stuff is for me, but he continues, “well, uh, he’s a very lucky man. Though I’m sure he knows that. What’s his name?”

I bite my lips in to keep from smiling rudely, hanging on to his name as long as I can, wanting to keep it for mine.

***

Saturday, June 30th, 1990

“Epi-what nows?”

“Epiphytes,” she giggles, tugging me by the hand through the greenhouse. She’s been geeking out over all kinds of flowers and plants for the last two hours, but if possible she’s even more worked up about the ones in this part of the exhibit. We stop in front of this giant cylinder covered with tufts of spiky little plants. “See?”

“I see ‘em, yup…there, uh, there they are, alright,” I nod approvingly, not having the slightest clue why we’re staring at these things but not wanting that excited look on her face to go away.

“Air plants, Jeff, look. See how they don’t have any roots? They’re not planted in any soil?”

“Son of a bitch, you’re right,” I take a step closer and squint at the plants she’s pointing at and realize they’re just hanging onto this column through sheer force of will or something. The more I look at the wall, the more variety I see, like noticing more and more stars the longer you let your eyes focus on the night sky, and I’m starting to understand, if maybe dimly, why she’s staring so raptly at them with that smile dancing on her lips. She turns to me and blushes, her hair a little wilder than usual thanks to the humidity in here.

“I know, it’s weird, I’m really into plants,” she cringes, “you probably hate it, right? We can go if you –”

“No no, how the fuck does this even work?” At first, I was kind of hesitant about a date at the conservatory – I mean it’s free and all, so it’s got that going for it, but who wants to stare at flowers all day? But I’m starting to see the appeal of staring at Lucy when she’s staring at flowers, and now I just genuinely want to understand what the fuck I’m looking at.

“They just grow on all different kinds of surfaces, and they take their moisture and nutrients from the air instead of from extensive root systems in soils. Like, uhm, mosses and stuff? Spanish moss is a good one. But also orchids, and all these bromeliads in here.” I remember the window full of orchids in her place and begin to understand why she wanted to come here. I follow her gaze back up the display wall as she continues in a hushed, reverent voice. “I just think it’s beautiful, the way they fall all over a tree or another plant, not doing any damage like a strangling, needy vine would… just, just a soft blanket all over… just breathing together.”

She falls silent and we both stare at the plants, and I’m trying not to think too hard about how romantic fuckin’ epiphytes turned out to be when I feel her take hold of my hand and lean lightly against my arm.

***

“Our feast, m’lady,” Jeff turns around holding a giant brown paper bag, having just tipped the delivery guy and nudging the front door closed.

“And what’s the damage?” I grab my backpack and reach in for my wallet, but he takes the bag out of my hands and sets it down, sliding his arms around my waist.

“Nah, forget it, you’re a cheap date,” he mumbles, planting a light kiss on my lips.

“Sure know how to woo a girl,” I grin against his mouth.

“You’re one to talk, Miss ‘I’m really into plants,’” he tickles my ribs and I break away, dodging for safety in the kitchen and sticking my tongue out at him. “You save all the best stuff for the third date, huh?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the mistress of seduction alright. The castration and branding stories were just the bait to reel you in before we started the real foreplay. Chopsticks?”

“Drawer next to the sink. Gotta hand it to you, though, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Well, this sounds like a promising game…” I hunt around in his kitchen cabinets until I’ve got a couple of plates.

“Shit,” he laughs. “You know I’m just kidding, Luce, right? I had a great time.”

“You’re not getting off the hook that easy, bud. I mean it, what is the worst date you’ve ever had?”

He glances mischievously up at me while dishing out his low mein. “I dunno, I sort of want to hear about yours, you seem too eager for someone who doesn’t have a good horror story up her sleeve…”

“Nuh uh, I asked you first.”

He screws his face up thoughtfully as we sit on the couch with our dinner. “I don’t know, I haven’t had a lot of really awful ones, I guess… there was a blind date in college once that was pretty fuckin’ awkward.”

“Details, please,” I sit opposite him on his couch with my legs folded, awkwardly managing my rice with my chopsticks.

“Okay, so I got home to Big Sandy after a semester away and one of my mom’s friends wanted to try to set me up with her daughter, so my mom went along with it. I don’t think this girl’s mom had any idea who I was or what I looked like or anything, she just knew me as, like, the mayor’s kid…”

“Your dad’s the mayor?”

“And the barber,” he nods with a mouthful of food, “I don’t think I can impress upon you just how tiny this shit town of mine is… anyway, so I had to be pretty well behaved, and pretty clean cut, right?”

“Gonna need some evidence of this ‘clean-cut’ concept when story time’s over,” I tug on a piece of his hair.

“I mean, relatively speaking. Well, I come back from Missoula, having made a bunch of friends who were into punk rock, and I looked the part, you know… or more than I did when I moved away. And this girl’s, like, Polly Purebred, never left home, just completely sheltered and totally freaked out. I probably looked like Sid Vicious to her or something,” he chuckles. “So it wasn’t the end of the world, but she was pretty terrified the whole time, so I found excuses to cut it short and take her home.”

“Very decent of you for a depraved monster.”

“I thought so. And very much my last blind date, too. Your turn!”

“Ah, fuck,” I groan… “I don’t even know which one to go with. Yours was so tame, mine are all going to sound insane.”

His eyes light up as he sets his empty bowl down and rubs his hands together. “Go on…”

“Okayyy… well, it doesn’t really count as a date, but my two most serious boyfriends both came out to me while breaking up with me…”

“Jesus!”

“No, that was the other guy.”

“You dated Jesus?”

“Not quite, but I did go on a date with someone who tried to convert me. Brought all his “so you’re going to hell” pamphlets and shit.”

“Okay, no, that’s got to be your worst one.”

“Don’t you want to hear about the puker?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights. “The…”

“The guy who took me out to dinner and turned increasingly green throughout the meal, and I kept asking if he was okay, until the waiter sets this big piece of salmon down in front of him and he pukes all over it.”

“That’s fucking disgusting!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you the rest…” I wince even thinking about the memory of it, but he’s watching with wide eyes. “…that he… drained it off and then…”

“No he did not. He did not fucking eat the fish. Nope. We’re done here, get the fuck out!” he takes my bowl from my hands and pulls me off the couch, gently shoving me towards the door, but we’re both howling with laughter.

“You’re, like… damaged,” he teases, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Nah, just the usual run-of-the-mill lowered expectations. You’ve got it easy,” I bite my lip and he drops his gaze to my mouth.

“Well, you deserve a lot better than puking and proselytizing…” he places a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose, and I close my eyes to hang onto the sensation of it, the way time is slowing down.

“Sweet talker.” He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek as his mouth moves down to mine for a soft, sweet kiss. Well, it started that way, anyway… as soon as I parted my lips, he wound his fingers into my hair and wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me into him, and now I’m kissing him back feverishly, winding my arms around his neck, trying to get as close as I can. He shuffles me carefully backward until we find the couch, where we lay down gently and I lose track of everything except the sweetness of being all tangled up together.

*

What the hell time is it? I crane my neck to look around his apartment for a clock, being careful not to disturb him, but I’m distracted by how gorgeous he looks when he’s asleep. His mouth’s open just slightly and he’s snoring softly underneath me on the couch, one arm still wrapped around my shoulders. We’d been making out like a pair of horny teenagers for who knows how long, before deciding together that we were in no great rush, and enjoying an endless twilight of soft kisses, cuddles, talking, and laughing. Until I guess we fell asleep, and now it’s… 1:17? Holy shit.

Jeff’s arm tightens around me and he stretches his other arm out to the side, letting out a contented rumbling noise.

“Sorry to wake you,” I nuzzle into his neck, planting a few little kisses and breathing him in as he gathers me up into a hug.

“Sorry? Wake me like this a little more often, would you?” he mumbles against my temple.

“It���s late, I should get back downstairs and let you go to bed.” I’m saying it, but not really believing it, and all it takes is one whispered “stay?” into my ear before I settle back into his arms, with no intention of going anywhere.

***

Thursday, July 19th, 1990

“I’ve fucking missed you! I’m so glad you’re coming home tomorrow. Do you have any idea what a sausage fest my life is now?”

“You say that like it’s bad.”

“Oh shut up, Cor. You had something to do with that, you know.”

Guilty, I think to myself as I laugh at her through the phone. Lucy and I didn’t have a lot of guy friends until a couple of months ago when all these musician types crashed into our lives. Not that I don’t get along well with men. I actually tend to get along with them better than most women, and all my friends in high school were guys, on account of being the only girl in all the science and math clubs. Guys somehow make more sense to my brain. More straightforward, or easier to joke around with, or something. Or maybe it’s having a brother that makes them seem more approachable? Not that my brother is in any way typical of the species, whatever the fuck the stereotype even means. But a crowd of guy friends is something I’ve not had for a long time. I guess since I started college, started dating Alex. Ever since then it’s been one or two close girlfriends. Mad back home, Lucy here in Seattle. Quality friends over quantity, a thought that makes me grin at getting to see Luce tomorrow.

“Yeah, well, I’ll dilute the testosterone a bit when I get back.” I hesitate for a half second, knowing I’m about to embarrass the shit out of my dear, sweet friend, but also just genuinely curious since we’ve been playing phone tag ever since I made it to Alaska three weeks ago and it’s the first time we’ve actually managed to catch up. “And speaking of sausage, how’s it going with Jeff?”

“Damn it Cora!” she laughs. “It’s been going really well. Like, really well.”

“Nuh-uh, not good enough. I need more information. What date are y’all on now?”  

“Uhm, I’ve sort of lost track, there were a few days where it was like, distinct dates happening, but for a couple weeks now we’ve seen each other almost every day.”

I wolf-whistle. “Busy three weeks.”

“Oh, hush. I’m a lady, you dumb bitch.” I try and fail to stifle a snort, but even she’s laughing.

“The most refined, clearly. So maybe not that much of a sausage fest, then?”

“We are taking things slow,” she says resolutely. “I mean, well, we’ve done… stuff, but like, we haven't… not yet…”

“You’re adorable, you know you can’t even say it? Haven’t had sex yet?”

“Not yet. We’re not in a rush.”

“Fair. You don’t owe anyone shit, you know, least of all a guy for taking you out.” I don’t even know why I’m lecturing her, except that she has dated a line of assholes as long as my arm.

“I know, Mom. We’re just in that… that dream-like beginning part, you know? Where it’s all new, and time slows down every time you touch, where everything’s about wanting and not having? The part you just don’t ever want to end?”

“Yeah, totally.” Except I don’t really know, but she sounds so lost in her happiness that I should keep that to myself. New topic.

“So are you guys going to the party thing tomorrow night? Stone and Chris’s thing?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there. Are you going?”

“Mmhmm. I think I talked Alex into it.”

“Whoa! So let it be written, the history books shall show that on this day, July 19th, Alex Henderson agreed to hang out with his girlfriend’s friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, wise-ass. Should be interesting.”

“It’ll be fiiiine!” she sing-songs.

“You have approximately zero data points on which to base that conclusion.” I’m imagining Stone and Chris talking to Alex and I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the thought. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“I’ll be optimistic for both of us, then.”

“Bless your heart. Speaking of the hermit, I should probably give him a call.”

We say our goodbyes, hang up, and I dial home, but I get the machine. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand and try not to sound too perplexed as I leave him a message: “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to hear your voice one more time before I get to see you tomorrow, but maybe you crashed early? You’re turning into such an old man on me, love. Well, if you get this, give me a call back, I’ll be up for a while. And if not, well, I can’t wait to come home to you tomorrow. Love you.”

I’m checking every corner of my shitty motel room one last time to make sure I’ve packed everything when the phone rings about 5 minutes later. Figures, Alex probably crashed on the couch but woke up when he heard my message.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I murmur, “did I wake you up?”

“Gorgeous, huh? Finally seen the light? And no, you didn’t wake me up, I called you, genius. You eat paint chips as a kid, Red?”

“STONE! Fuck you dude,” but I’m laughing my ass off. “What do you want?”

“Child, you cut me to the quick. I’m supposed to want something if I call?”

“Well, A, you’re only two years older than me so cut the ‘child’ shit, and B, it’s you, so…”

“Okay okay, I give, you’re impossible,” he chuckles, “just wanted to say hi. Been a few days.”

Before I left, I’d told him to call me and annoy me every so often to keep me sane on this trip, and he’s been holding up his end of the bargain admirably.

“Yeah,” I grin. “So what’s new?”

I listen quietly while he rambles about the songs he’s writing with Mike, bitches about work, unpacks a tense but seemingly productive dinner he had with Jeff the other night to come to an agreement about working together in a new band. He asks about how the sampling trip is going, prods me for the nth time to make sure I’m coming to his birthday thing tomorrow. We take turns giving each other shit, as usual. After a while, the conversation falls into a comfortable silence and a quick glance at the clock shows that we’ve already been talking for almost an hour, although it’s only seemed like a few minutes have gone by. Somehow, Stone became one of those people to me faster than almost anyone else I’ve ever known. One of the ones you can talk about everything and nothing with, who gets the jokes and gives them back, who it’s easy to be easy with. After a while, he speaks back up.

“So, what are you getting me for my birthday?”

“Haha, presumptuous much? Just where and when am I supposed to be doing birthday shopping? Do you forget I’ve been marooned above the Arctic Circle digging in dirt for three weeks?” I’m giving him maximum sass, which is no less than he deserves, but I feel a spasm of guilt. In truth, I already found Chris a present, but I still have no idea what to get for Stone.

“No excuse for poor planning, Red.”

“Okay. Fossilized polar bear turd it is.”

“Nice talk.”

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

He clucks his tongue and sighs, but the conversation sags without his usual immediate zinger. “Yeah,” is all he says after a moment. I shake my head at the phone. He’s weirder than usual tonight.

“Alright, I’ll play. What do you want for your birthday?”

“I was just kidding, Cora, don’t get me anything. Just come hang out.”

“I can handle that. But that wasn’t my question.”

“I mean it. I just want to have a fun night with my friends. It’s… it’s been kind of a year, you know?”

Andy. I nod stupidly for a moment before remembering he can’t see me. “Yeah, yeah.” Once again, we fall quiet for who knows how long before he breaks the silence.  

“So is Alex picking you up at the airport tomorrow?”

He hasn’t been giving Alex derogatory hillbilly names recently. I’m not even sure when that stopped, but I didn’t notice, and for whatever reason, I kind of miss it.

“No, my car’s there, I’ll drive myself home.”

“WHAT?? Where’s the romance in that? Come on, Jethro, step it up, buddy.” Oh, well there it is.

“And you are the expert on romance since when?”

“You don’t even know, Red,” he purrs. “Hey! Stop laughing! I’m serious!”

“Sure you are. Hate to inform you, Stoner, but Friday’s a work day for most productive members of society. My flight lands at like 2. I don’t expect the world to stop turning for me.”

“Yeah, but asking your boyfriend to meet you at the airport’s not asking the world to stop turning. It’s asking for something people are just supposed to do for one another. I’d think he’d want to.”

“I didn’t ask him!” I’m not even sure why I’m yelling. Are we fighting?

“Okay, okay. Easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.” There’s a bit of a pause, a strained one this time, and I’m not really sure what to say to fill it, but Stone speaks up after a moment.

“You know… if you ever need a ride to the airport, some of us unproductive members of society would be happy to oblige. You dropped everything to drive our asses all over the place when you barely even knew us. I’m just saying, I’m happy to return the favor anytime.”

“I…”

“Don’t make it weird, Cora. Just… just ask. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Stone,” is all I can manage to say as I turn the offer over in my mind. I’m genuinely touched, and also a little confused, before he breezes on like nothing happened.

“So we might have a line on a potential singer…”