“My mom.”
He thinks about this for a minute and then says, “We watched Schindler’s List in history last year — have you seen it?”
I shake my head. We never got to watch movies in my AP U.S. History class, unfortunately.
“There’s a scene at the end when the people Oskar Schindler saved leave stones on his grave. Our teacher said that the stones are supposed to …” He searches for the right words.
“Represent the permanence of memory,” I finish for him, remembering the phrase from my own research.
He nods.
“I looked it up, too. When I found your stones.”
We’re quiet. He reaches up and tucks a loose hair behind my ear.
“It’s just a matter of time before she figures it out,” he says.
I take a deep breath. Exhale. “I know.”
“She looked at me funny tonight.”
“It’s probably because your shirt is on backwards.”
“It is?” He looks down, pulling the neck out to confirm. “Fuck.”
I laugh. “That’s not why she was looking at you funny. I think you look familiar to her.”
He looks down at his shoes and says, “Fuck” again, more quietly.
“You’re right. She’s going to figure it out.”
He nods. “Do you think we should tell her first?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”
“Me neither.” He kisses me lightly, then not so lightly.
Chapter 30
It’s Friday night and Charlotte has finally talked me into going on a double date with her and Josh. She sweetened the deal by offering to pay with her dad’s credit card and who am I to turn down a free meal? Zenn and I are still in denial about the gravity of our situation, casually dating as if our backstory is normal and not about to blow up in our faces. We meet at the restaurant and when Josh and Charlotte walk in, I’m once again blown away by how stupidly good they look together. Zenn notices, too. “Hey, look. It’s Barbie and Ken,” he whispers.
I punch him in the arm.
Our hostess leads us to a table and we sit, adjusting our napkins and fidgeting with our water glasses. I have to give Josh credit; he makes the first effort. He has more social skills than the rest of us combined, so I suppose it’s the least he can do.
“Char says you’re a good basketball player,” Josh says to Zenn. “Why didn’t you try out for the team?”
Zenn takes a sip of his water. “Didn’t think I’d have the time.”
Josh dismisses him. “It’s not that much. Just after school until five thirty or so. A couple of games a week. Maybe a tournament on the weekend.”
“Zenn works every day,” I say. I may sound defensive, but I’m actually proud.
“Every day?” asks Josh.
“Sometimes two jobs.” I spit it out before Zenn can stop me.
“You have two jobs, dude?”
“Three, actually,” I correct him.
“Eva.” Zenn’s voice is a warning, but his eyes are smiling.
“Three jobs? And school? How the hell do you do that?”
“Not very well. It’s why I need a tutor.”
“Shit,” Josh says. “Then what’s my excuse?”
We all order drinks — Zenn and I more water, Josh Coke, Charlotte iced tea — and there is another awkward silence before Charlotte makes some inane comment about tea and where it’s grown and I know I’m going to need to do something to spice things up.
“Have you guys seen this blog post,” I ask them, “where the author compared consent — like, sexual consent — to having a cup of tea?”
They all stare at me for a moment, shocked by my choice of topic. Zenn looks amused, Charlotte looks horrified, Josh looks confused. Does their reaction stop me? Oh, no. Not even a little bit. It’s better than talking about how the Assam region of India is the largest tea-producing area in the world.
“It was … well, it was brilliant, actually. She explained how it could apply to all sexual situations. Just imagine that, instead of initiating sex” — I feel myself blush a little at the word, but pretend I haven’t — “you’re making the person a cup of tea.”
Josh looks doubtful. Perhaps he’s never had to wonder about a girl’s consent before. Maybe this is a new concept to him: girls not tearing off their underwear at the mere thought of him.
I continue. “Basically she says you ask them, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ and if they say, ‘Fuck yes, I would fucking love a cup of tea!’ then you know they really want a cup of tea.”
Zenn laughs, and I realize that might be the only reason I’m telling this story: to make him laugh.
Charlotte, who as far as I know has never even had a cup of tea, sexually speaking, nods earnestly.
“If you ask if they want tea and they say, ‘Um, I’m not really sure,’ then you can make them a cup of tea but they may not drink it. And if they don’t drink it, she says, don’t make them drink it. Just because you made it doesn’t mean they are obligated.”
Zenn is grinning.
“If they say, ‘No, thank you,’ then don’t make them tea at all. If they are unconscious, don’t make them tea. If you make them tea and they start to drink it but fall asleep mid-cup, don’t pour it down their throat.”
Now finally Charlotte laughs, nearly spitting out her own iced tea. Josh looks at her adoringly and I wonder if maybe she has indeed had some variety of tea with Josh. If so, I’m guessing it was likely not the variety he had to pour down her throat.
“It’s amazing, really,” I say. “It works for every scenario.”
Something about my goofy analogy loosens us all up and the rest of dinner is surprisingly relaxed. Josh and Zenn get along well enough. I’m actually having fun. This must be what it’s like to be a “normal” teenager.
We make it through dinner and I am convinced, now, what attracted Charlotte to Josh way back in middle school. It wasn’t his boy-band hair and chiseled body, which was all I ever saw before I got to know him. Charlotte always saw a kindness in him, a surprising humility. Charlotte saw the person he was, not the person he was trying to be. Once I let go of the stubborn stereotype I had of him, I saw it, too.
During dinner when Charlotte excuses herself to go to the restroom, Josh half rises out of his chair, like men do in old movies. He offers her a taste of his meal and then tries hers, even though he’s already mentioned that he doesn’t really like salmon. And despite Charlotte’s offer to pay for dinner, Josh takes care of the check before any of us have a chance to even politely reach for our wallets.
And the way he looks at her. Well.
He’s a good guy.