#flomobabes forever! LOL
Jamie said she’d never mess with what we have. But what did she and Kelsey have? I look at the unintelligible hashtags under the photo. I think about the private smile they shared right in front of me. History. Is it enough to bring them back together, like Elaine says? I’m wondering what else Jamie and Kelsey’s history might include when some super-old oldies singer starts crooning, “Re-mem-ber whennn you held me ti-ight? And you kissed me all through the night?” It’s a catchy tune and I might even think it was cute if it weren’t so close to home. Probably they did kiss each other all through the night. Four solid weeks of kissing, money, movie-star looks, and inside jokes.
And suddenly I’m thinking about history again—my own history. I remember Trish, and how I clung to her even though she’d moved out of my league, even though she was never going to be into me. How I saw that first text to Dad when I was twelve and just pretended I hadn’t seen it. How it’s so obvious that Dad’s having an affair, that my parents’ marriage is a sham, and how I’m just letting it happen. And now, how Kelsey and Jamie are on a date at this fancy restaurant reliving their hot, historic summer together while I just sit around doing nothing, telling myself that Jamie wouldn’t just walk out on me.
Elaine said I should be with someone who knows they want to be with me. I thought that someone was Jamie. She promised me she wasn’t into Kelsey anymore, but I was invisible to her when Kelsey was around. She said I was the best thing that ever happened to her, but here she is on a “hot date.” Jamie fell apart when Kelsey dropped her. “Breaking up is hard to do,” the song keeps saying. What if Jamie’s not as over Kelsey as she thought? Maybe Elaine is right. Maybe Jamie doesn’t really know if she wants to be with me, after all.
29
AT NINE THIRTY, IT’S TIME FOR ME TO GO HOME, Jamie still hasn’t texted me, and Kelsey has posted another Instagram pic—this time, it’s her pushing a chocolate-dipped strawberry into Jamie’s open mouth. The anxiety that’s been coursing through my veins all evening is starting to thicken into a sludgy, resentful sort of acceptance. Caleb offers to drive me home instead of Reggie, who wants to hang out a little longer with Thom. Why not, I say. Sure. Fine.
All the way home, Caleb pesters me with questions about Reggie and hints about Thom, all of which I respond to a beat or two late because all I can think about is Jamie and Kelsey and the possibility that Jamie doesn’t know if she wants to be with me.
“You’re in a weird mood.”
“Huh?”
“Exactly.”
“Sorry.”
We’ve reached my block, and Caleb has stopped the car. He’s turned it off, in fact. I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. “Hey, that was fun. Thanks for the ride,” I say, and climb out.
“Lemme walk you to your house.”
I’m about to protest that there’s no need, it’s just down the block, but he’s already out of the car and on his way around the front. The temperature has dropped low enough for me to shiver in my light cotton cardigan, providing a convenient excuse (“Cold?” “A little.”) for Caleb to put his arm around me to warm me up.
When he does, I have a moment of clarity.
He wants to kiss me.
Duh. Because come on, I knew this all along, didn’t I. I just didn’t want it to be true. Like with everything else, I’ve just been hiding from it, trying not to deal with it. That’s why we all went to Bowl-O-Ramen. That’s why he drove me home. He’s been working the whole night to build up to this moment, this one-block walk home under the autumn moon and stars.
Just before we reach the house, Caleb stops. Which means I have to stop, too, since his arm is basically hugging me to him. Actually, it feels pretty good. He’s bigger and stronger than Jamie, which makes me feel small and protected. It’s a surprise, and a nice one. Why didn’t I feel this way with Mark Schiller way back on the Glen Lake Country Club golf course? Maybe Elaine is right again. Maybe there is something between Caleb and me.
“Sana.”
Suddenly I’m a little afraid of what might happen if look at him, so I just play with one of the zippers on his leather jacket. “Yeah?”
Now his hand is brushing a stray lock of hair off my face and I’m reminded of how Jamie did the same thing to me in the back of Reggie’s van only a few weeks ago. But Jamie’s out at this very moment with Kelsey, doing who knows what. A wave of hurt breaks over me, and I have another moment of clarity. I’ve always been the one who endures, who waits, the one who suffers silently while other people have fun doing stuff they shouldn’t. Gaman. I’m sick of gaman. But I don’t have to stand still as life splashes and churns around me, the way I used to. I don’t have to be the rocks and the sand on the beach—I can be the wave. It’s time to face the truth. It’s time to stop enduring and start acting. It’s time to move toward someone who wants me instead of clinging to someone who doesn’t.
I turn my face up as Caleb leans down, and I put my hand on his cheek, then around the back of his neck, and I kiss him.
It’s nothing like kissing Mark. It’s quite nice, in fact. So nice that I don’t have to pretend to enjoy it—oh my God, maybe Elaine is right. So nice that when it’s over, I actually say, “That was nice.”
“You don’t need to act so surprised.”
I look up and Caleb is smiling down at me with such tenderness that I have to look away. He’s looking at me the way Jamie looked at me the first time we kissed, the way I looked at her. And as sweet as he is, as nice as that kiss was, I don’t have it in me to look at Caleb that way. Elaine was wrong. I like Caleb. It was pleasant, kissing him. He’d be a good boyfriend. But that’s not what I want. A black, heavy kind of understanding settles on my shoulders: kissing him was a big mistake.
“Sorry. It’s just—” I have to tell him the truth. That’s the right thing to do. But instead I hear myself saying, “The last guy I kissed was a terrible kisser. I guess. I mean, I didn’t realize it until just now.” Well, it is true, anyway.
“I guess I owe him one for setting the bar so low,” he says. “Now you think I’m a good kisser.”
“You are.” Also true! Not lying! And he kisses me again, and I let him.
“You know, I thought for a while that you might be a lesbian,” he says next.
“Oh. Um.” Now. Tell him now. I take a steadying breath. Ready . . . Set . . . But it’s too late. He mistakes my hesitation for offense.
“Sorry, don’t be mad! But you know that time when I saw you with your friend Jamie during lunch? You were, like, holding hands, I think. I could have sworn she was about to kiss you.”