In her driveway, Eve asks if I’m into a glass of water. I nod and follow her in.
In her front hall, she says, “I’ll be back,” and returns toting two toothbrushes with massive white gobs of paste on their bristles. I laugh, take one.
“This isn’t, like, your dog’s toothbrush, or anything?”
“We don’t have a dog. We have a cat.”
We brush side by side at the kitchen sink, her stepdad’s snores descending softly through the ceiling. We spit and our frothy white foam whirls side by side down the drain. I steal her hand and wipe my mouth on the frayed cuff of my sweatshirt she’s still sporting. “Don’t get this all cruddy,” I say. “It’s my favorite.” And she checks me with her hips.
She walks me out and I count twelve steps from the front door to my car, trying to calm my nerves going haywire inside. We stand by the open door and she says, “Thanks for the lift.” She begins backing away and my hopscotch heart fissures. She says, “Night,” waving a small hand and I’ve come undone. She walks away and I sink into my car, heart crawling up, clinging to my throat. She turns and heels it back over to me. I climb out.
“Don’t wanna forget,” she says as she starts sliding out of my sweatshirt.
“Keep it,” I say. “It superfreeze fits you. B’sides, I don’t give a rat’s tail about that crank old thing. It’s like shrink wrap on me. Makes my arms look like Abraham Lincoln arms. You know, like, crazy, long Abraham Lincoln … arms.” I hold my bare wrists up massive awkward and she laughs and drops her hands to her sides.
“Oh, pesky Bug, you’re very special,” she says, laughing. “Does your dad ever tell you that?” I shrug and giggle. Her words from before come back—she’d have to be something special—and I wonder.
She walks to my open door and wraps her arms around my neck and my life could end now. Her blond curls are thick and cool with summer nights on my face as I hug her, and when she lets go, she’s smiling, big.
I wanna kiss you, I think, but my lips are silent as my heart cage thumps a heavy-metal hair-band double bass drumbeat.
“What’s eggs?” she says. “You look massive sad.”
“I think … I d-dunno,” I stutter. I must be unhinged. “This is so flip. But I feel like I’m missing you already.” I frown comically. “That must sound so crickets.” And we’re laughing and she’s hugging me tight, again. Her body, so close, again.
We stand and our heads bow together.
“Not crickets,” she says softly. “Be easy.”
Her face so close.
And then, I’m kissing her.
A small, soft thing of a kiss. An idea. A question. The world’s spin stops, sputters, stalls. And then she’s pulling away slowly, wide-eyed and smiling, holding her fingertips to her mouth. She shuffles backward and my brain function returns in increments, and I smile, watching as she heels it to her front door, looking over her shoulder at me, her fingers still at her lips. She leans her back into the door, her hands two small peace signs, and then I’m folding into my banger just as my bones turn to dust and I’m washed away in her low tide.