Cai
I love first dates. And yeah, maybe the time we spent together at Mikey’s and on the beach was supposed to count as a first, but waiting for Tansy outside the bistro I’ve picked has the feel of one. Plus I did official, actual asking this time. That’s always a cool milestone.
Watching Tansy walk up to me is a treat. She’s wearing a skirt, a fluttery thing that skims around her ankles with fat purple slashes of color. The top is peasant style, with a straight across neckline that does crazy shit to my self-control. I want to touch her. It wouldn’t take much. A hand on that pale, milky skin would be enough.
My fingers curl in over my palms.
Her hair falls down her back in a riotous mass of curls. The smile she gives me is tentative, and she shoves a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at me from under her lashes. “Hi.”
There’s tension in her neck that pulls the strings of her tendons taut. “Hi.”
We stand there for a moment, another breath, another handful of seconds as cars whoosh by in the street. “We should head in.”
Except I reach out to take her hand and she flinches—a little step backward and the jolt of her chin that she tries to hide by looking down the street. “I’m sorry about yesterday. When I thought you wanted . . .”
I try to give her the space she needs to gather her words, but she seems to only dig herself deeper. Her mouth opens, and she looks back at me—and then away again.
“About bringing food? It’s not a big deal. Do you like to cook?”
“No, I mean, yes.”
“It’s okay to not like cooking. That’s why restaurants exist.” I point at the place beside us, trying to be cheeky. There’s a big chunk of this puzzle that I’m not understanding, especially when she looks at me with tragically big eyes.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my pinstriped trousers, purposely hiding them so she’ll feel better and maybe less flinchy. I hate being out of my element. I hate the way I’m looking at her as if she’s a bomb that’s going to go off, but I can’t help it either. This is the stuff that I’m so bad with. It wrecks me to see her like this, and for Christ’s sake all I said was something totally normal.
“I’m domestic. I like baking and decorating.”
I let my head cock. “Those are not the same thing as cooking. They’re, like, different sections in home ec and everything.”
“I know that.” She tries to smile at me, and god, I can’t take it anymore.
“Come here.” I reach out, slowly this time so she doesn’t jump.
I take her shoulders and pull her to me. She’s stiff as fuck, but she doesn’t seem exactly unwilling. More like unsure of where to put her face. I cup the back of her head and nudge her toward my shoulder.
And, the second her cheek touches me, she bursts into tears.
Fuck. Hell. I beat back the panic. This is fine. I know what I’m doing. I can be here for her enough that I won’t let her crash and burn. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re so nice.” Her words fight their way free from between whimpering sobs. She puts a hand over her eyes, shoves away the tears spilling over her cheeks again and again.
“That’s not normally a cry-worthy thing.”
“See? Even in this?” She sniffles. “I’m a mess. You should get away from me.”
“Do you want me to?” I’m such a shitty person, because part of me wants her to say yes and let me off the hook. It’s a small part, but it’s still there at the scared center of my chest. Tansy wouldn’t have this small selfish bit—her courage wouldn’t allow her to. Even her tears are wide open. I don’t think I’ve met anyone exactly like her before.
She doesn’t answer in words. One hand clutches the placket of my button-down shirt, while the other slips around my waist. She burrows against me like a kitten. Needy and helpless. Her whole body shakes with her crying.
She’s easy to take care of. Most of me is ready to stand here on this corner until the world burns away as long as that’s what she needs. I rub her narrow back. Her curls tickle my hand.
I avoid her bare shoulders because it’s the right thing to do. The hard thing, but the right thing, and if I’m admitting to myself that a little bit wants to run, then the least I can do is be a decent human with the rest of me.
Eventually she subsides. Her sniffles clear her nose. She wipes her cheeks clean and pulls back only enough to look at me. Her eyes are glassy, and her nose pink at the rim. That’s being kind. She’s as red as Rudolph. It’s kind of adorable. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not a crier.”
“People have emotions. It’s chill.”
“It’s such a girl thing.” Her words break in the middle, and she hides her face against me again.
“So?”
She freezes. Every bit of her. I don’t think even a curl moves. She scrubs her nose with the base of her palm. “What?”
“So what if it’s a girl thing?” A seam runs down the middle of her shirt. I trace the material with a finger. She arches into my touch just a little bit. “I mean, you’re a girl, right? I kind of hope so, since I’m a lesbian and I find you remarkably attractive.”
My teasing works. A smile lifts her mouth. “I’m a girl. And you’re a goofball.”
“Sometimes.” I run my thumb over the curve of her cheek, which is tacky with drying tears and hot with the force of her emotion. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Then do you mind if we get out of here? Trust me enough to take a ride with me?”
“I’m sorry if I’m overly cautious. I watch way too many shows with names like Snapped and Swamp Murders.”
I’m taken aback for a second, enough that I duck my knees the inches needed to look her in the eyes. “There’s enough killings in swamps that they can have a whole show about them?”
She pushes her hair back from her face. A breeze catches the hem of her dress and wraps it around both our calves. “People vastly underestimate the number of swamps in America. Michigan has swamps. Wisconsin. They’re all over.”
“Still, I feel like the vast majority of that show has to take place in Louisiana. It’s probably contractual or something.”
“I’ll ride in your car.”
“And if I say I’ve actually got a motorcycle?”
Her eyes light up. Her smile gets so big it almost seems to lift her off her toes. “Seriously?”
“It gets great gas mileage.”
“As if that’s the only reason you got it.” She wrinkles her nose when she scoffs.
“You know my name, not my story.” I’m jokes right and left around this girl. It’s almost weird how much I want her to smile.
It’s good when she giggles. There’s a force that’s right with the world. I take her hand and the feeling only gets stronger.
“I can’t.” She gestures to her long skirt. “It’d be in the way, wouldn’t it? Like a cape near a propeller? ‘No capes!’”
An Incredibles references. Be still my poor heart. “We can work around it if you’re not afraid to show a little leg.”
She flashes me a saucy grin. “I like my legs.” But just as quickly the smile is gone. She’s thinking of her ex. I know it without asking. That’s what all of this is. Jody was a bitch and Tansy is a broken girl.
I’m not a doctor. I don’t repair broken people. I should run.
My bike is up the street in a parking garage. The shadowy recesses make the enamel and black pipes look pretty damn impressive. I pat the fender. “This is my baby. She’s on the smaller side, but she’s a hard as hell worker.”
“Is it a Harley? It looks like one but not at the same time.” She trails a hand over the black leather seat. “I don’t think I’ve seen a red Harley before.”
“It’s a Victory Vegas.” I pet the painted frame. “I love my baby. The price for performance can’t be beat. I got it last year, but I’ve had plenty of bikes in my life. You can trust me.”
She looks up at me with wide eyes and a soft bend to her lower lip that isn’t quite smile, isn’t quite sadness. “I do. Maybe I shouldn’t yet, but I do.”
I hand her my extra helmet, and I have to teach her how to tie up her skirt, get on, and put her arms around my waist. I gave her a quick rundown on how to lean into curves. I like the way her grip tightens when I kick the engine on. “You ready?”
“Probably not,” she says, and then she giggles. She presses her face against my back. “Okay, let’s do this.”
I take it slow at first. She falls into the pattern easily, moving with me. Her thighs are initially tense, but by the time I navigate us toward the Pacific Coast Highway, she’s snuggled up against me. It takes another twenty minutes of cruising before she’s okay enough to lift her head from my shoulder.
There’s traffic, so it’s not as if we’re going fast. I’m glad I installed the passenger seat today. I don’t always.
At a light, she’s brave enough to let go of my waist and stretch her arms to the side. “This feels so weird. I’m supposed to be protected by a box.”
“Weird in a good way?”
“Definitely.” The light turns green, and she holds on to me again. “Definitely a good way.”
I don’t have a direction in mind at first, but I’m driving north, so it doesn’t take me long to think of where to go. It’s in Long Beach, but traffic is kind to us, and we make good time in the scheme of California gridlock.
“What’s this?” Tansy asks as she stands beside my bike in the parking lot. Once she takes off the helmet, she shakes out her hair, fluffing and squishing it without ever actually running her hands through the curls. “Aquarium of the Pacific? Do they have otters? I love otters and manatees.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” I take her hand and pull her closer to me, close enough that I can smell her sweet perfume mixing with the saltiness that’s her skin.
“Sea cows have a pretty sweet life. They cruise around and munch veggies all day. I could live like that. Sounds pretty low stress.”
“I’d miss Netflix.”
“I’m a Hulu girl. We’re doomed.” She rests her head on my shoulder as we approach the entrance.
“It depends. One more thing might save us or break us: HBO Go or Starz?”
“Ugh, HBO all the way. I’d die without Westworld.”
“Life is still worth living.”
She laughs and I kiss her. Fast and quick, but enough to take the taste of her happiness into myself. It’s hard to believe that only an hour ago she was sobbing in my arms on a city street. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” I tell her.
She gasps, a tiny expulsion of noise.
“Hasn’t anyone told you that?”
She shakes her head. Her hand tightens on mine. “I like it though.”
I cup the side of her face, and I almost say something more, something that I’d probably regret later when my ghosts catch up to me and I fuck all this up. I shove away all the could-have-beens and should-says. “Let’s go in.”
We’re the only ones at the ticket window. “Are you sure,” Tansy asks, squeezing my hand. “It closes in an hour.”
“That’s enough time for what I’m thinking about.”
“Is that supposed to sound as naughty as it does?” She’s teasing, but she’s reaching pretty hard for the joke. She’s trying to be whatever kind of normal, whatever sort of person she thinks I want her to be.
I want her to be her. Campsite rules and all that. I’m older than her. If I’m willing to do this with Tansy, I have to be able to leave her better off than I found her. That seems easier said than done when I’m pretty much a hot mess at any given time. I laugh, but say, “Not intentionally. Nothing’s naughty when there’s birds involved.”
“Birds?” She trails along behind me, but I can practically picture the confused line between her brows. “We’re at an aquarium. Did you get lost?”
“Nope. We’re almost there.”
You can hear the lorikeet enclosure before you turn the corner and see the giant cage. They cover it over with as much vegetation as possible, but there’s still no denying the honeycombed metal fencing. There’s a door that’s practically an airlock and then a small counter, where I pay for two cups of nectar. Hanging plastic hides the inside of the enclosure from view until I push them aside. “Welcome to heaven.”