this but come up empty. So to move on, I shake my ice cream. “You want to finish this?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He peers at me. “Are
we
… good?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re gold, Pony Boy.”
Mike laughs out loud, and after a sec, I do, too. Adding it up, I have to say, I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.
“So, since we’re being all frank and honest and junk,” I say, “I do have some bad news.”
“You’re allergic to ice cream?”
“Ha! Death first. No, it’s not that.”
“Good. What’s up?”
“It’s just that … well, I’m sorta hoping-slash-assuming that since this is a date, there might be others?”
“That is the plan, yes.” He bumps his knee into mine.
Such small contact, yet such a
thrill
. “Right, good. So, the bad news is, my lovely and charming mother dearest has rather insisted that she meet you. And if not, that could put the aforementioned
future
dates in grave peril.”
“Ah. I see. Cool.”
“Hold that thought. When I say she wants to meet you, I mean, like, tonight.” And I want to show you my work, I think, but can’t say it. Haven’t really made up my mind there.
“Sure, I don’t mind meeting her,” Mike says. “Am I dressed for the occasion?”
“We might want to pick up a tux. Or a clerical collar.”
That
would be hysterical.
“Done,” Mike says. “My limo’s in the shop, but what can ya do.”
I grin. And my stomach torques again as I dare to tilt my body toward him and rest my head on his shoulder. I feel no tension from his body in response and gratefully let my eyes wander the city lights. A minute later, Mike drapes an arm over my knee. I shiver happily under my skin.
We sit still like this for a while, not saying much, but I am
infinitely
happy. Eventually, I reluctantly pick myself up from Mike’s shoulder. Mom’s ethereal voice is starting to assassinate my joy. I
so
do not want to make Mike meet her, even if he is cool with it, but I’d rather get it over with.
“Should probably go,” I say. “If you still want.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, scooping up the two ice cream containers. He pours out my melted ice cream and shoves the empty carton into his.
I step gingerly off the rock we’ve been sitting on, preparing to inch my way back to the car and hoping Mike’ll take my hand.
Please
.
“Um,” Mike goes, and I stop.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you live? I mean … think you could point to it from up here?”
I step back onto the rock. My hands fall to my (wide, childbearing) hips as I study the city lights, looking for a landmark. Then I point.
“I think that’s Arcadia,” I say. “The football field. If it is, then that over there is the mall, which puts my house, like, a couple miles up that way, so, like, right there. Ish.”
I glance at Mike to see if he’s following my directions, but Mike isn’t watching my hand. He’s looking at
me
. I relax my arm, let it fall.
“You really like it up here?” Mike asks. His voice is quiet.
Has he moved nearer while I was talking? Because a second ago, I swear he was fifty yards away, and now he’s close enough that I can feel his ice-cream-cooled breath on my neck.
Now?
It’s now, oh god, it’s now, please
.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“You’re sure?” Mike goes.
“I’m sure.”
Mike nods, still looking into my eyes.
Then he leans in and kisses me gently on the lips.
My eyes stay open, but I see nothing except stars. Even as Mike pulls away and studies my reaction, I can see only the twinkling desert sky, and catch a faint whiff of creosote.
“Um. You okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and lift both hands to cradle his chin.
I pull him to me again, and Mike doesn’t resist. He surrounds my waist and holds me close as we kiss. My arms tremble, the back of my neck burns; the base of my skull is
tingling
, sending breathless synaptic electricity down my spine and to my fingertips.
Whatever I paint next, the oils will be mixed
“Nah, I’m good.” He peers at me. “Are
we
… good?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re gold, Pony Boy.”
Mike laughs out loud, and after a sec, I do, too. Adding it up, I have to say, I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.
“So, since we’re being all frank and honest and junk,” I say, “I do have some bad news.”
“You’re allergic to ice cream?”
“Ha! Death first. No, it’s not that.”
“Good. What’s up?”
“It’s just that … well, I’m sorta hoping-slash-assuming that since this is a date, there might be others?”
“That is the plan, yes.” He bumps his knee into mine.
Such small contact, yet such a
thrill
. “Right, good. So, the bad news is, my lovely and charming mother dearest has rather insisted that she meet you. And if not, that could put the aforementioned
future
dates in grave peril.”
“Ah. I see. Cool.”
“Hold that thought. When I say she wants to meet you, I mean, like, tonight.” And I want to show you my work, I think, but can’t say it. Haven’t really made up my mind there.
“Sure, I don’t mind meeting her,” Mike says. “Am I dressed for the occasion?”
“We might want to pick up a tux. Or a clerical collar.”
That
would be hysterical.
“Done,” Mike says. “My limo’s in the shop, but what can ya do.”
I grin. And my stomach torques again as I dare to tilt my body toward him and rest my head on his shoulder. I feel no tension from his body in response and gratefully let my eyes wander the city lights. A minute later, Mike drapes an arm over my knee. I shiver happily under my skin.
We sit still like this for a while, not saying much, but I am
infinitely
happy. Eventually, I reluctantly pick myself up from Mike’s shoulder. Mom’s ethereal voice is starting to assassinate my joy. I
so
do not want to make Mike meet her, even if he is cool with it, but I’d rather get it over with.
“Should probably go,” I say. “If you still want.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, scooping up the two ice cream containers. He pours out my melted ice cream and shoves the empty carton into his.
I step gingerly off the rock we’ve been sitting on, preparing to inch my way back to the car and hoping Mike’ll take my hand.
Please
.
“Um,” Mike goes, and I stop.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you live? I mean … think you could point to it from up here?”
I step back onto the rock. My hands fall to my (wide, childbearing) hips as I study the city lights, looking for a landmark. Then I point.
“I think that’s Arcadia,” I say. “The football field. If it is, then that over there is the mall, which puts my house, like, a couple miles up that way, so, like, right there. Ish.”
I glance at Mike to see if he’s following my directions, but Mike isn’t watching my hand. He’s looking at
me
. I relax my arm, let it fall.
“You really like it up here?” Mike asks. His voice is quiet.
Has he moved nearer while I was talking? Because a second ago, I swear he was fifty yards away, and now he’s close enough that I can feel his ice-cream-cooled breath on my neck.
Now?
It’s now, oh god, it’s now, please
.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“You’re sure?” Mike goes.
“I’m sure.”
Mike nods, still looking into my eyes.
Then he leans in and kisses me gently on the lips.
My eyes stay open, but I see nothing except stars. Even as Mike pulls away and studies my reaction, I can see only the twinkling desert sky, and catch a faint whiff of creosote.
“Um. You okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and lift both hands to cradle his chin.
I pull him to me again, and Mike doesn’t resist. He surrounds my waist and holds me close as we kiss. My arms tremble, the back of my neck burns; the base of my skull is
tingling
, sending breathless synaptic electricity down my spine and to my fingertips.
Whatever I paint next, the oils will be mixed
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