Chapter Twenty-Two
Allie
At around eleven, I drove over to the high school and found Lindsay sitting alone in her room eating a Greek salad.
“Hey,” she said as I walked in. “Would you like a Fresca?”
“Sure.” I pulled up a stray chair and sat down on the other side of her desk; every square inch of which was covered in forms, papers, and plastic three-ring binders. There was a miniature fridge behind her desk. She reached into it and pulled out a silver-green can, which she handed to me.
“You must be the only teacher I know,” I said, “who comes in to work on a Saturday.”
“Most of us work on Saturdays actually,” said Lindsay. “We just take our work home with us. I came in today because I had to input some grades that are due before midnight. Anyway, how’s the boy?”
“He’s great. I’ve got some exciting news: he wants me and you and his brother to go square-dancing tonight at one of the bars on Fifth Street.”
Lindsay absorbed this news with raised eyebrows. “Which brother?”
“Zach, the hot one. The Navy SEAL.”
“Well, I can’t say no to that.” She closed up her salad box and set the remains in the refrigerator. “I haven’t been invited out on a double date since before I got my degree. What else can you tell me about him?”
“We haven’t gotten to talk much one-on-one, but we did go camping together. He’s quiet and serious, keeps to himself mostly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh.”
“Sounds like a winner,” said Lindsay. “Let’s find him on Facebook.”
She turned her monitor at an angle so that I could see. “You mean to tell me you and Curtis still aren’t friends?”
“I need to fix that. We’ve been too busy making out.”
“Shut up. What’s his last name?”
“Savery, with an E.”
Within a few seconds, she had brought up Zach’s profile page. Most of it we were unable to access without sending him a friend request, but there were several pictures of him wearing his crisp Navy uniform. Lindsay let out a thin yelp of excitement. “This is the man I’m going on a date with tonight?”
“That’s the plan. I’m actually not sure Curtis has told Zach you’re coming yet. Let me text him.”
“Perfect. In a few hours, I’ll be two-stepping with a hot guy who currently doesn’t know I exist.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” I said as I texted Curtis. “I’ll tell him to pick us up at your house.”
“Are y’all still getting along?”
“I haven’t been tempted to smother him in his sleep, so yes. He came over last night, and we spent the night together.”
“Ooo, la, la,” said Lindsay. “Sometimes I forget we’re adults and we can do stuff like that now. That our parents won’t ground us if we don’t come home before sunrise.”
“Weird, isn’t it? When did we get so old?”
“It just happened one day when we weren’t looking. One day you’re twenty-four, and everybody’s talking about how you’re the youngest teacher in the English department and a ‘whip-smart young woman.’ Then the next day you’re twenty-five, your chances of landing a decent husband are rapidly fading, and nobody praises you just for doing your job.”
“There’s not really an in-between, is there?” I said sadly. “The early twenties is all, ‘Whoa, you’re still just a baby!’ And the late twenties is, ‘Why haven’t you bought a house yet?’”
“Well, anyway,” said Lindsay, clicking her heels together, “hopefully after tonight I won’t have to worry about it. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning to find myself married in Vegas, nursing the nastiest hangover of my life.”
“Every young woman’s dream,” I said, raising my Fresca can in a mock toast. “Or, I guess we’re old women now.”
“Just a couple of old maids,” said Lindsay, and we both laughed.
***
Curtis and Zach met us at Lindsay’s house at around six. We’d gone thrift-store shopping earlier in the day and decked ourselves out in the most garish, stereotypically Texan attire we could find: broad-brimmed Stetsons, leather boots with silver spurs, cactus-print button-downs over beige camisoles, and matching belts with enormous golden buckles in the shape of Texas.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked Curtis. “Texan enough? Do you think I’ll blend in?”
“Honey, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about,” said Lindsay. “I went to a Christmas party at the end of last year and there was a guy there wearing an ugly sweater with green lights, and the green lights were arranged so that they spelled out the word ‘TEXAS.’”
“What is the deal with everyone here needing to wear something with Texas on it, or with the word ‘Texas’ on it?” I asked. “The other week I went over to Waffle House for breakfast, and the fry cook served me a Texas-shaped waffle. You know we don’t have Massachusetts-shaped waffle irons in Boston?”
“Well, nobody’s gonna want to eat a Massachusetts-shaped waffle,” said Curtis.
Realizing that he wasn’t going to be much help, I turned to Zach for assistance. “Zach, you’ve traveled around. Have you ever been to a state that was as obsessed with itself as Texas is?”
Zach shook his head. “Can’t say I have. They don’t have pictures of the shape of Oregon hanging up in the liquor stores in Portland.”
“That’s because everybody implicitly understands that Texas is the best state,” said Curtis. “Why brag about some other state that you live in?”
We continued our argument on the way to the Palladium. It billed itself as a bar, but it was really more of a dance hall with a live band playing a lounge-style version of the Boot-Scootin’ Boogie on bass, fiddle, trumpets, trombone, piano, and steel guitar. A couple dozen men and women swayed and kicked their heels to the music, most of them wearing blue jeans, hats, and belts with large buckles. A few older women at the front of the stage raised their hands and mouthed the words along with the band. It was the kind of place that in an earlier era would have been filled with smoke from a hundred cigarettes and cigars.
As we danced, Curtis said something low in my ear, but I could barely hear him over the din of the band and the chatter of the crowd around us.
“What was that?” I asked as he spun me around.
“I said you’re a natural at two-stepping!” he said loudly. “The way you pick up these skills, one would think you were a native.”
I smiled. “What other skills have I picked up?”
“Camping, horseback riding, understanding the language…”
“Well, I’ve got you to thank for most of that. You’re not such a bad dancer yourself! I mean, I’ve never seen anyone two-step before tonight, but from what I can tell, you’re pretty good at it!”
“Thanks!” said Curtis, scooting his boots across the floor. “I’ve been workin’ at it for a long time!”
Meanwhile, a few paces away, Zach and Lindsay were bobbing and spinning with the practiced ease of a couple that had been dancing together all their lives. Lindsay turned me a smile as they passed us, the kind of smile that said, “Have no doubt, I’m having the time of my life.”
We left the bar at around 9:00pm and met Darren at Monterey’s on Main Street. It was happy hour, and he graciously offered to buy us all drinks and appetizers. I ordered a bowl of nachos laden with ground beef and queso, and a pale ale, while Curtis ordered chicken wings and a hard apple cider. When Curtis asked Darren where he’d gotten the money, Darren gave him a shifty look and coughed into his hand, as if to say, “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”
At around 1:00am, the barman flicked the lights off, and a waitress began piling chairs onto the tables. “Well,” said Curtis, gathering up our empty baskets, “you think we ought to be heading home?”
“Lindsay brought her own car,” I said, “so I can head back with you and Zach if there’s room in the car.”
But Zach shook his head. “Sorry, guys,” he said, grabbing his keys and wrapping one arm around Lindsay, who leaned into him and smiled a mischievous smile. “I’m not going home tonight.”