They feel okay.
Dad’s face breaks into a smile. He nods once, claps me on the knee, and nods again, his eyes shining with—tears? Wow. After lunch, Dad takes off again, presumably to celebrate with Yūko-san, and I feel a stab of regret about telling him it’s okay to keep seeing her. And he hasn’t mentioned my secret. I wonder if Mom even told him. But he’s not gone for very long. In fact, it hasn’t even been an hour when I hear his voice again, calling, “Tadaima!”
“Okairi.” This time, I can answer him. I watch him as he takes his shoes off, which he does with some difficulty because of the white paper bag he’s holding in his hand.
“Sana-chan,” he says. “Oidé.”
I go over to him, and he holds out the bag. “This is for you.”
I take it and unroll the top. Inside is a white Styrofoam cup full of chocolate ice cream.
No, wait. It looks denser, softer than ice cream.
“Chocolate frozen custard.”
“Sea dragons’ favorite food,” he says.
I look up. His mouth is curved in a cautious smile, his eyes a little anxious. “Do you remember?” he asks. I do. He rests his hands on my shoulders, looks me in the eye, and says gruffly, “You’re a good girl, Sana,” before tousling my hair and stepping back. Which is the closest he’ll probably ever get to hugging me and saying, “I love you, no matter what,” so I’ll take it.
POETRY JOURNAL, HONORS AMERICAN LITERATURE
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 30
“Wild Geese”
by Mary Oliver I love this poem for lots of reasons. First of all, the first line: “You do not have to be good.” We are who we are, and we shouldn’t have to suffer for it, or prove anything to anyone. We just have to “let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves” and share our pain with each other. Nature loves us and is beautiful no matter what, just like us.
Seeing wild geese flying is always exciting for me, because it’s like they’re on this big journey, and I feel like I’m part of their journey somehow. Oliver talks about how their “harsh and exciting” calls announce our place “in the family of things,” like they’re reminding us that in the big picture, on our journeys, we can all find a place where we can be accepted for who we are, no matter what.
38
THE WEATHER HAS FINALLY TURNED. WHEN I woke up this morning, it was raining. It’s just a long, steady downpour, but the news is calling it “the first winter storm.” I don’t know if that’s because the news likes to make a big deal out of nothing, or if people in California are just that clueless about weather.
It’s time for a new season in my life, too. I text Reggie, who texts Thom, who texts Caleb to check to see that he’s home alone. He is.
By the time I pull up in front of Caleb’s house, the rain is coming down in sheets. I park on the street, and as I get out of the car, I step right into a puddle. Excellent start. I sprint up the driveway to the front door and ring the doorbell. It’s probably a good thing that it’s raining so hard, because despite dreading a face-to-face with Caleb, I can’t wait for him to answer the— There he is. “Hi,” I say, squinting through the rivulets of water streaming down my face.
“Hey.” He doesn’t budge.
“Um, can I come in?” He steps aside to let me in. I wonder if he’d have closed the door on me if the sun were shining. I stand dripping in the foyer. Caleb just stands next to me, watching.
“I need to talk to you. To, um, apologize.”
“Okay.”
“Is there somewhere we can sit down?”
Silently, Caleb leads the way into the kitchen, where, from the looks of it, he’s been eating a piece of toast. He sits down and looks at me like, So? I sit. I fidget. I wish this conversation was already over. “So . . . I’m gay.”
“Yeah, I got that news flash.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Ugh, why am I so bad at this? I start over. “Okay, so first of all, I’m really— I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I did and how I acted and what I said. I should have been honest with you. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have led you on. It was thoughtless and selfish.”
“And mean.”
Okay, fine. “And mean.”
“And fucked up.”
“And . . . fucked up.”
Caleb looks out the window at the rain, which is coming down so hard, it’s hard to see anything else.
I wait. I look at my hands. I twist my fingers. Finally I can’t take it any longer.
“Well, are you going to say something, or—”
“I felt like a total idiot.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I mean, I liked you, you know? And you just . . . used me. I mean, you kissed me. You kissed me. What the fuck was that about? Why did you do it?”
“I know. I—I don’t know, I guess I was afraid that Jamie was going to leave me. Like I was afraid my dad was going to leave me and my mom. And I didn’t want to be like her—like my mom, I mean. I thought my mom was just letting it happen to her and I thought I was going to be different, and do something. . . . It was just the wrong thing.”
“No shit.”
“I didn’t think it through, I guess. I just—I wanted to be with someone who really wanted to be with me.”
“Well, I did want to be with you.”
“I mean . . . maybe I wanted to be with you, too, for a moment, because I could tell that you wanted to be with me, and I did—I do—like you.”
“But not the way that I liked you.”
“No, I guess not.”
“And you wanted to be with Jamie more.”
“Well, I . . . yeah. And I should have told you right away. I should’ve worked it out with her instead of messing with you and then lying to you both. I was just so afraid she’d leave me. I panicked. And then I thought—I knew—you’d be mad at me. So I was afraid to tell you. I’m just a loser, I guess.”
“You can say that again.”
“I know.”
“No. Seriously. Say it again.”
But the corner of his mouth is twitching.
“I’m a loser.”
“And you’re sorry.”
“And I’m sorry. I’m a loser and I’m sorry.”
“You can say that again.”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, fine. Apology accepted.”
“Okay. So . . . we’re good?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“Good.” I try a smile. “I was worried you would hate me forever.”
“I thought about it.” He points his finger at me. “Don’t get complacent, though. I could change my mind.”
“Got it.” I just need to make sure he knows how great I think he is. “You’d be a fantastic boyfriend. Just not for me.”
He heaves an enormous sigh. “I know.”
“Because I’m—I mean—”
“I know. I get it. Thank you. But you don’t have to rub it in. Fuck.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I was just trying to be honest.”
“It’s all right. Just . . . work on your timing.”
“Okay.”
“Want some toast?”
“Sure.”
Caleb gets up and drops two slices of bread into the toaster, and soon we’re munching on buttered toast in companionable silence, looking out at the rain together.