~
WE’VE PRETTY MUCH CALMED down, Gage and I, and are sitting on the couch watching Ghost Hunters with none of our body parts touching when his phone rings. On TV the TAPS teams are hanging out in a former morgue where several people claim to have spotted the ghost of a young boy in Victorian clothing. The real life noise makes me jump, which in turn makes Gage smile and touch my shoulder as he reaches for the cordless on the coffee table.
At first he sounds normal. Then his voice tenses. “So she’s gone already? When did all this start?”
Gage looks at me as he listens to the voice on the phone. “Yeah, of course you can,” he says. “It’s just … I have someone here right now, but of course. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes. Call me later when you know more, all right? Bye.”
Gage drops the cordless back on the coffee table, his eyes sombre. “Christabelle’s on her way over with Akayla. Her mom was having really bad stomach pains, burning up with a fever. Her dad just drove her over to the hospital and now Chris and her brother are going too.
“I won’t have time to run you home first,” Gage adds. “We’ll go when she gets here.”
I bob my head and tell him that I hope Christabelle’s mom is okay.
Gage bites his lip and grabs for the remote to switch off the TV. “Me too.” His focus has shifted to a group of people I’ve never met. I don’t really know how close he and Christabelle still are but I can’t let myself start being jealous about someone who will be part of his life forever. If we’re ever going to be more than friends again I need to be mature about his life and I guess that means starting now.
“Is there anything we should do before they get here?” I ask. “Is Akayla’s room all ready?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he says absently. “We don’t have to do anything.” He fumbles around in his pocket for his cell and starts tapping out a text message. “I’m just asking Chris’s brother, Damien, to keep me posted too.”
I’ve heard Gage mention Damien before — he’s one of Gage’s best friends — but I didn’t realize he was Akayla’s uncle. There’s so much I don’t know.
Less than ten minutes later Gage’s doorbell rings and he sprints upstairs, leaving me on the couch with butterflies in my stomach. I hear voices upstairs, but when Gage comes downstairs again less than a minute later only Akayla is with him, stepping in my direction in white socks. She’s wearing two-piece yellow pyjamas under her open pink coat and carrying a pale purple knapsack in her arms while Gage has a large pink and green duffle bag slung over one shoulder.
“We’re just going to dump your stuff in your room and then drive my friend home,” he says, reaching down to put his hand on her hand. “You okay, sweetness?”
Akayla nods and looks me over. “Are you the girl from the store?” she asks.
“She is.” Gage answers for me. “This is Serena.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling at Akayla but trying not to stare too much. She seems tall for four, but when was the last time I knew someone who was four? I really want her to like me and that chases all the words from my head.
“We’re going to drive her home and then put you to bed, okay?” Gage repeats, walking ahead of Akayla and motioning for her to follow.
As they disappear into the hallway I hear Akayla ask, “Dad, is that your girlfriend?”
“She’s just a friend, sweetness,” he says after a short pause. “Like you have friends who are boys at daycare.”
“Only one,” she reminds him, and then I can’t hear them anymore.
When they come back a few minutes later I notice Gage has put Velcro running shoes on Akayla’s feet, probably because it’s easier than pulling her boots back on. She yawns as she shuffles by me and I wonder if Christabelle had to get her out of bed to bring her over. The three of us pile into Gage’s car, and as we back out onto the street I turn to look at Akayla. “You okay in the back?” I ask.
She kicks out one of her feet in front of her and nods suspiciously.
“Dad,” she says loudly. “Dad?”
“Quiet voice,” he advises. “I’m right here. What is it, Akayla?”
“What’s wrong with Grandma?” she asks, her face long.
“We don’t know yet,” Gage replies, his eyes on the road and his tone patient. “They’re going to check her out at the hospital and find out. Then they can fix her up and your grandpa will bring her home again.”
“Tomorrow?” Akayla asks.
“Soon,” Gage says. “As soon as she’s better.”
Akayla doesn’t have any follow-up questions for now. I watch her turn her head to gaze out the window. “Will you call me tomorrow and give me an update?” I whisper to Gage.
“If you want,” he replies. “Sure” would’ve been a better answer, but he must be stressed out. Me being fifteen is the least of his problems tonight.
Soon we pull up in front of my house and I unbuckle my seat belt, peer into the back seat, and say, “Bye, Akayla. Nice to meet you.”
Akayla points her big brown eyes at me. “Bye.”
“See you,” Gage says, looking at me like my presence isn’t really registering. “Thanks.”
For what? I don’t ask. “See you,” I say back.
I trudge towards my house, my head spinning with everything that happened tonight. Inside I kick off my boots and wrestle my coat into the closet. Some older, unused jackets are piled in a messy heap on the closet floor. Maybe this is as close as my mom got to the idea of cleaning out our closet.
I hear TV voices and discover my father lying on the living room couch with a glass of red wine beside him on the coffee table. An egg cup full of green olives accompanies the wine, and somehow this makes me sad. My dad’s big treat for himself is an egg cup of green olives. Shouldn’t there be more? Maybe he should have an affair. Live a little.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“In bed,” he says, hoisting himself up on his elbows. “One of her headaches. How was your night?” He smiles like he’s in the mood for company, but it’s Genevieve or Nicole I really need to talk to.
“It was okay. Kind of quiet.” I point down at his olives. “Can I take one?”
“Sure. Work away.” He points to the TV. “I’m just watching NCIS here. It’s a pretty good episode.”
I nod at the TV. “We were watching Ghost Hunters.”
“I thought you didn’t like those paranormal shows,” Dad says, arching his eyebrows.
“Gage likes them.”
“Ah.” Dad smiles again, and now I’ve really had enough.
“Gotta go,” I tell him, grabbing another olive. “I owe Genevieve a call.”
I scurry up to my room and sit at the foot of my bed clutching my cell and debating who will take the news about Gage and me better. I settle on Nicole, who answers on the second ring. “Do I look older than my age?” I quiz.
“You mean, like, every day or what?” Nicole says. “Because obviously if you have your makeup done and stuff you can look older. Why? Are you getting a fake ID?”
“No. Someone at the store told me I looked older.”
“Some perverted old guy?” Nicole guesses.
“Not really. He was about nineteen.”
“Oh, okay, but listen,” Nicole says, “I was just about to call you anyway because you have to hear this craziness — Liam just got in touch with me to say he’s having a party next weekend.” I can hear the angst in her voice but can’t tell whether it’s angry angst or excited angst. I wait for Nicole to plow forward and give me another clue.
“Can you believe he had the nerve?” she huffs. “He said he didn’t want me to hear about it from someone else and that I should feel free to come because he always thought it was stupid the way things ended with us.”
Okay, so she’s outraged. I remember the day she fell and messed up her leg and sympathize utterly. “If he thought the way things worked out was so stupid maybe he should’ve had your back when everyone was forwarding the video around,” I say.
“That’s exactly what I told him. He said every time he got near me I was shooting him bad vibes and staring at him like I wanted to saw his balls off.”
I lean back against my bed and pull off my socks. “He said that?”
“Yup.”
“So does he think your vibes have changed — why’s he calling now?”
Nicole growls into the phone. “He’s decided — just now, mind you — that maybe it was hard for me and that he should be big about things.”
“He’s a little late,” I declare. “Or is he?”
“He’s a lot late,” Nicole says. “A day late would’ve been a lot late.”
“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe next time he’ll figure it out faster.”
“With someone else.” Nicole’s voice cracks as she adds, “Perfect. I wasn’t good enough for him to bother his ass figuring things out months ago.”
“You know it’s not about you. It’s him.” I know exactly how she feels, and I also know it’s not something she feels all the time, but I wish the two of us (and maybe even Genevieve and Aya) could quit having these lapses where we blame ourselves for other people’s bad behaviour.
“I know,” Nicole says. “I know.”
And I know I desperately need to tell someone about Gage, but the timing is wrong. So I keep my mouth shut until Nicole and I are done and then I do an entirely unexpected thing and dial Morgan’s boyfriend, Jimmy. Morgan’s safely occupied, at the MuchMusic studio doing an interview with the next Lindsay Lohan / Miley Cyrus wannabe (I saw the commercial for the interview while Gage was flipping channels earlier) and I know instinctively that Jimmy will keep my secret.
I’m blushing as I confide about Gage’s issue with me being fifteen, and sweating lightly as I admit he has a four-year-old daughter. But Jimmy could be a crisis counsellor; he guides me through the conversation with unprecedented cool, pausing to ask questions and let me fill in backstory.
Finally he tells me that if I want to have a future with this guy I should think about coming clean to my friends. “And by future I mean whatever you want that to mean, Serena! But if you want to continue to have some kind of relationship with Gage, don’t you think you should stop hiding it?”
I tell Jimmy about Genevieve, Nicole, and me — our battles with Laurier savages and our unofficial pledge to steer clear of them. I wince inside as I explain because Jimmy’s a guy himself and I know he’s no savage.
“It’s good to protect yourself when you’ve been through a bad relationship,” Jimmy says. “Personally, I always fell for the most savage boys imaginable during high school. Disaster, Serena! Disaster! But with you falling for Gage so soon after you’d sworn off boys, I can’t help but wonder whether you’re in a phase where you enjoy a bit of drama.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Jimmy continues. “But promise me if drama has something to do with it, that you won’t lose yourself in it. Drama’s like chocolate. Best in small amounts.”
I don’t think that liking Gage is rooted in a need for drama. If it’s rooted in anything unhealthy it’s more likely related to twentynine pounds of former chunk and a deep, aching craving to be wanted the way Noah wanted Allie in The Notebook. But I don’t want just anyone to want me that way. The desire’s entirely restricted to Gage. He even makes me want to watch Ghost Hunters, and if I thought I’d never wrap my arms around him again I’d spend the rest of my life remembering how it felt to hold him because I never want to let that feeling slip away. Even remembering it is better than nothing.
“I think I’m in love,” I whisper. “I feel almost sick.”
“Serena?” Jimmy’s voice is as soft as down feathers.
“Yeah?”
“How come you called me instead of Morgan? Not that I mind, I’m glad you called, but you know Morgan would’ve been happy to talk to you too.”
“I know.” I can’t begin to explain my reasons. I don’t know how to tell Jimmy that his boyfriend’s too perfect, too sure of himself, and on top of that, in some twisted way confiding in Morgan would feel like betraying Devin. “I guess you’re easier to talk to. Talking to my brother about relationships, um, we’re just not like that in my family.”
“Mine neither,” Jimmy says. “It’s too bad, isn’t it? But look! If it is love it won’t burn out from not being able to touch him for two months and it won’t be extinguished by your friends either. Trust me, you need your friends to talk to at times like these. They keep you from going off the rails.”
I promise him I’ll tell Genevieve and Nicole. I do mean it, but a revelation like that can take time and I end up seeing Gage again first. Christabelle’s mom is back from the hospital after an appendectomy, recovering nicely, and Gage and I do a repeat of our skating and diner date. After he’s finished his chili cheese fries he says he’ll drive me home and I ask if he’s afraid to be alone with me now that he knows I’m fifteen.
Gage gives me a pointed look. “If we’re just friends we don’t need to be alone, do we?”
Friends can cuddle, maybe. But I’m scared to say it in case he thinks I really mean something else.
I grab the ketchup and flip the lid open for no particular reason. “I just miss being close to you,” I admit at last. “I didn’t mean anything else.”
Gage spreads his legs out under the table so that they’re touching mine. “I miss that too.” I feel the full weight of his stare on me. It feels like sunshine. He reaches out to hold my hand on top of the table and he’s warm like sunshine too.
I squeeze his fingers and say, “If you start going out with someone else during the next two months I’m going to kill you.”
Gage flashes a broad grin. “Where am I going to find someone who’ll put up with me?”
“Good point, but what do I know, I’m not even old enough to drive.”
Gage groans and covers his face with his fingers, smile still visible between the cracks. “Thanks for the reminder, Serena. Am I going to hear about how young you are every time I see you for the next two months?”
“I’d actually prefer if you forgot about that but I guess that’s not going to happen any time soon.”
“Nope,” Gage says confidently. “It’s not.”
“You never told me when your birthday was, you know.”
“September ninth,” he says.
That means there’s three and a half years between us. The number doesn’t sound like that big of a deal to me, but if you’re the kind of person to worry about numbers I guess I could see why three and a half would ring more alarm bells than two.
I grab the bill from the middle of the table and announce, “It’s on me this time.”
“No, it’s not,” Gage counters, reaching for the bill too. “C’mon, you didn’t even eat anything.”
We both cling stubbornly to the diner bill, which doesn’t even amount to ten dollars, like it’s profoundly meaningful.
“You always pay,” I tell him. “It’s not fair.” So he’s older than me and he’s a guy; I’m not going to allow those things to define every single aspect of our relationship. “I’m not planning on letting go, so unless you want to sit here all night …”
Gage looks me in the eye, judges me serious, and releases his hold on our bill. “All right. Thanks.”
There’s still another hour before I have to be home and Gage says if it wasn’t so cold we could just walk around or something. “I wish people would keep Christmas lights up all winter long,” he adds. “Not the reindeer and other decorations, just the lights. Maybe then winter wouldn’t seem so long.”
“You don’t like winter?”
“I don’t mind the cold,” he says. “I just don’t like the short days. By the time I get off work the sunlight’s gone.”
“I hate that too, but we can walk for a bit if you want. It won’t be any colder than skating.”
Gage nods but says, “We can go back to my place and hang out there if you want — just, you know how it is, right?”
I nod solemnly, but I guess part of me thinks he’ll back me up against the kitchen counter and kiss me until my lips are numb anyway because I’m surprised when it doesn’t happen. Instead we sit on the couch and flip channels. Gage is different from other guys I’ve known in lots of ways but he’s exactly the same when it comes to the remote.
He says it’s because there’s nothing good on and hands the remote over before heading off to the bathroom. There’s an open DVD case on top of the TV stand and I amble over to check out what it is. Someone has printed “AC-JAN” on the DVD in black marker. Akayla Cochrane? Curious, I slide the DVD into the player and it immediately starts playing.
Akayla’s standing in her bedroom, her hair in twin braids, grinning toothily at the camera. Her room, which I’ve never seen in real life, is decorated with perfect painted likenesses of Babar characters — Babar, Celeste, Zephir, Pom. I’m surprised I remember their names, and now that I’ve seen their images on screen I know I won’t be able to resist taking a real life peek at the bits of the room I can’t see on the DVD.
“I don’t know what to sing,” Akayla squeals, hopping up and down. “You sing with me, Dad! You start.”
Gage laughs from behind the camcorder. “I’m the cameraman,” he says. “You do the singing. You’re better than I am.”
“But you sing with me,” Akayla insists, and that’s all it takes to get Gage (invisible behind the camera) to sing a duet of “Nobody Likes Me (Guess I’ll Go Eat Worms)” with his daughter. Akayla does an uncoordinated little dance as she sings, stretching her arms out to suggest the girth of the big fat ones and later dangling tiny invisible ones into her mouth and chomping down on them.
By the end of the song she’s collapsed, face down, into giggles on her bed and Gage is laughing louder and saying, “That’s a gross song. Who wants to eat worms? You don’t even like to look at them. Sing something nice.”
“Like what?” Akayla looks up at the camera. “I know!” She begins singing “On Top of Spaghetti” substituting the word poopses for meatball. I start to giggle at the ridiculousness of it myself, and by the time Gage joins me in the family room again I have tears streaming down my face from watching Akayla sing her icky but hilarious poopses song. It’s not so much what she’s saying that’s funny, but how much it’s cracking her up.
Gage shakes his head as he sits down next to me, the trace of a smile on his lips. “She’s obsessed with everything related to poo,” he comments. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve stuck in the DVD and adds, “The next part is actually good. Here …” He swipes the remote from the coffee table and fast forwards a bit.
“This time something sweet, okay?” off-screen Gage suggests from the TV. “What’s the sweetest thing you can sing?” He answers his own question. “Okay, I got something. I’ll get you started again.”
Oh, I know this one too. He’s started into “Sing,” which is one of those songs you grow up feeling like you’ve known all your life. He’s right; it probably is the sweetest thing anyone can sing, and when Akayla joins in she does a good job, like she’s taking this one seriously. She sways gently on her heels, tilting her head as her big brown eyes stare earnestly into the camera.
The two of them sound so adorable together that I want to throw my arms around Gage and crush him in an everlasting hug. He stops the DVD just after he and Akayla deliver the last line. “She’s really cute,” I say, restraining myself admirably, “even when she’s singing about poop.”
“Believe it or not, that does get old,” Gage says, making a face. “But yeah, she’s cute.”
“I guess she must get that from Christabelle,” I tease.
“She must,” Gage agrees, but his eyes are sparkling. “How come I’m getting the feeling the next two months are going to be the longest on record?”