You and Me and Him (11 page)

“But that’s everything,” I say.

“Yep.”

I check my phone again to see if Nash has answered yet.

“Do you think he’s mad?” Tom asks.

“Probably.”

“You and Nash seem really different. I mean, from each other.”

“That’s true.”

“So can I ask?”

“How come we’re friends?”

“Yeah.”

“We just are.” Drops of rain start to freckle the windshield, so I turn the wipers on. “The way my dad tells it, when we were little, Nash and I were on the monkey bars at the same time, coming at each other from opposite ends. When we met in the middle, Nash stared me down, expecting me to drop off and let him by. But I just smiled and kept going, grabbing the outside bar to get myself around him. He followed me around the playground the rest of the day, and by the time we left the park, Nash and I were friends.”

“I find a child-size version of Nash a little terrifying,” Tom says.

I laugh. “Most people do. He wasn’t exactly the poster child for American boyhood.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that. I’m guessing he got teased a bit?”

“Kids knew he was different, even before we were old enough to understand about gay and straight and everything in between. But Nash is a fighter, and it didn’t take long before kids looked for victims who weren’t quite so feisty.”

“Still, it seems like people are okay with him now.”

“I guess. It’s not so much that Cedar Ridge is open-minded. I think people just got tired of the wrath of Nash descending on anyone who harassed him. The man has some rage.”

“I kind of got that, too,” Tom says. “But you seem to have tamed the Tiger.”

“Being friends with him is a skill I have mastered through trial and error. A lot of error.”

“Saint Maggie.”

“No,” I say. “Not a saint. You’re not getting it. Nash is . . . He helps me see the good things in myself when I have trouble remembering. He does that for his mom too.”

Tom looks skeptical.

“I know you think it’s the other way around, that I prop him up. And I do sometimes. But our friendship is . . .” I flip through words in my head, but none of them convey what I want Tom to understand about Nash.

“Symbiotic?” Tom offers.

I smile. “Wow, more AP bio vocab! Impressive. But, yes. Thanks. Symbiotic. It’s good for both of us.”

“Well, then, you are both saintly and lucky.” Tom turns to the window, and I realize fully that Tom’s never had what I have with Nash.

He still has on my “Weekend” playlist, and it flips to Billie singing “All of Me.”

I’m not really sure I’m ready to explain Billie to Tom, so I skip to the next song as fast as I can.

“No, wait. Switch it back,” Tom says. “What was that?”

“What? Oh, um, Billie Holiday, I think?” I’m feigning indifference, but Tom persists.

“Let’s listen to it.”

I give in and flip back to the song. Billie starts singing again, and I look sideways at Tom. He has his head cocked, listening like a Labrador or something, letting the music wash over him. When the song ends, he sort of shakes his head.

“Jazz. Not really my thing,” he says.

“Not really your thing?” I take the bait.

“Nope. Too sappy, too old. Not my thing.”

“Don’t make me pull this car over.”

“So, change my mind, then. How did you get into this kind of music?”

“I’m more into Billie than jazz in general.”

“Oh, you’re on a first-name basis?”

“Definitely. We’re like this.” I cross my fingers. “Anyway, Quinn was playing her one day in the store, and I loved her voice. Simple as that. But then when I listened to the lyrics . . . they’re so melancholy, but also so hopeful. They just . . . they feel true.” I keep my focus on the road. Another song comes on. I can feel Tom studying me.

“Yeah, that fits,” he says.

“What fits?”

“Melancholy but hopeful. That’s a good way to describe the music. And I think that’s how it feels when you’re in love.”

“I wouldn’t know.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think. I pray silently that Tom will leave it at that, but I know he won’t.

“You’ve never been in love?” he asks.

I shake my head. I do not want to have this conversation. Not now. Not with Tom.

“Never had a boyfriend?”

I shake my head again. I’m choking the steering wheel, my knuckles white.

“Okay, that’s weird.”

“Thanks a lot.” I accelerate without meaning to, then force myself to let off the gas a little.

“Sorry,” Tom says. “I didn’t mean that to sound . . . I just can’t believe some guy hasn’t . . . It’s hard to believe, that’s all.”

My mouth goes dry, and neither of us speaks for a mile or two. “What about you?” I ask. “When have you experienced the melancholy hopefulness of love?”

“I haven’t,” Tom says. “Of course I’ve hung out with people I liked, but I’ve moved so much. It makes things hard.”

“So you’ve never had a relationship? And you’re flipping me shit about being weird?”

“You didn’t ask me if I’ve ever had a relationship. You asked me if I’ve ever been in love. I’ve gone out with people. And I thought I was in love once. But I was wrong.”

“You were wrong? What does that mean?”

Tom looks out the side window.

“Okay, no. You can’t drop a tidbit like that into the conversation and leave it unexplained,” I say. “Give me the abridged version if you don’t want to go into detail, but you can’t leave that hanging out there.” We’re coming to the outskirts of town now, but there’s no real traffic. I fake stop at a couple stop signs before Tom decides to tell me.

“It wasn’t my last school, but the one before that. Walnut Creek, California, east of San Francisco. Anyway, Dad was working in the city, and my parents were hoping to keep me there for all four years of high school. We did stay there the longest of any of my schools, three semesters plus a few weeks,” he says. “So I was there long enough to sort of find my footing and make some actual friends. That’s where I met Jamie. Jamie was gorgeous. Black hair—you know in comic books how characters with the black hair are always drawn with kind of blue highlights?”

I nod.

“That’s how dark it was. We started hanging out, and I was a goner. Before long I was spending pretty much every waking moment with Jamie.”

“Sounds great,” I say. “What happened?”

“Well, turns out Jamie’s waking moments were split between me and another guy.”

I wince. “Oh, sorry. That sucks.”

“Yeah. It did suck. It sucked for a long time,” he says.

I silently curse Jamie for having a name that doesn’t give me a clue about his or her gender. “And now?” I ask.

“And now . . . I think my pride was hurt more than anything. When I think about it, there really wasn’t all that much to it. We partied a lot. But we spent most of our time . . .”

I feel him look at me as I realize what they spent their time doing.

“Well, anyway, it wasn’t love. And it taught me to be a lot more selective about who I spend time with.”

I glance over and he’s looking right at me. Our eyes lock for a split second before I turn them back to the road. “Flustered” doesn’t even begin to cover it. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. And I realize it would be stupid and obvious to ask about Jamie’s gender now. Nash will not be happy I let this opportunity whoosh by me.

Pulling up to the curb at Tom’s house, I set the parking brake and wait for him to get out. But he doesn’t. It starts to rain harder. Droplets obscure the windows before Tom speaks.

“Thanks, Maggie.”

My hand is on the gearshift, and Tom places his over it again, like he did when we went hiking. I feel clammy and hot, and I need some air. He seems to be waiting for me to do or say something. I don’t want to disappoint him, but anything I think of sounds wrong. I pull my hand away to turn on the windshield wipers. Being able to see out of the car again helps my composure.

“Yeah. You too.” At least my vocal chords work.

“Can we . . .” He hesitates. “I hope we can do more stuff like this.”

“Yeah, me too. And next time Nash can come, which will be so much better. He really knows the good stuff in the city.”

Tom smiles at me and gives my hand that little squeeze again. “Going with Nash will be fun,” he says. “But there’s no way it could be better.” He gets out of the car, leaning in to wave one last time. “Hasta la bye-bye!”

I roll my eyes. Suddenly I can breathe. Tom slams the door, and I don’t wait for him to walk up the steps before I accelerate. In my rearview mirror, I see him standing on the curb, watching me drive away.

I’ve only been home a few minutes when Nash calls.

“Tell me!” he says.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “I am so sorry about today! And so pissed at your mom. I really just wanted to come rescue you!”

“Yeah. She’s not my favorite right now. But it could have been worse. And at least Tom still got his day in the city.”

“Why does she do that? It’s not fair!”

“Granted,” he says.

“And why tell Tom instead of me? When he said you weren’t coming, I didn’t know what you wanted me to do. A simple text saying ‘go without me’ would have been helpful.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t communicate with you directly. My mom did what my mom does, so there’s that. I didn’t want to disappoint Tom, and I was afraid you would chicken out if you knew you had to go alone. So I called him, not you.”

“I am not a chicken!” I say. “And I went, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You went. You were very brave, Maggie. Now quit stalling and tell me about Seattle. Every moment rendered in detail, if you please,” Nash says.

So I tell him. I can almost hear Nash’s eyes rolling over the phone.

“You took him to the zoo? And the gum wall? Were you trying to take a tour of Seattle’s most unsanitary places?”

“When you go to Seattle with Tom, you can take him where you want. This was Tom and Maggie’s excellent adventure. Besides, Tom seemed to like it.”

“I’m sure he was just being polite. He’s probably burned his clothes and sanitized everything else by now. Did you do anything cool?”

“I passed out cookies,” I say.

“I can’t bear it,” Nash says. “No more details about your bizarre activities. Tell me about Tom. What did he reveal?”

“He wants to be a biologist,” I say. “And he’s a vegetarian.”

“So cool,” Nash says.

“He chews clove gum. And he had never seen a geoduck.”

“Maggie! You didn’t show him the geoducks!” Nash says, laughing. “You tramp!”

“Yep. I felt it was important to continue my theme of showing him Northwest wildlife. On the hike it was the moose. That set the bar pretty high. I thought a prehistoric bivalve was the only decent follow-up. Anyway, he was speechless.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“And he loved the Troll. Did you get the photo?”

“Yes. I’m jealous, okay? What else?”

“Oh! He’s been in a relationship with someone named Jamie,” I say.

“Boy or girl?” Nash asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Maggie!”

“He never said and then the moment was gone.”

“I can’t believe you! You get an opportunity for a little reconnaissance and let it pass?”

“I know. Sorry. But grilling people about their love lives is harder than it sounds.”

“Did you find out anything useful?”

“They were pretty hot and heavy, and then the mysterious Jamie cheated and broke Tom’s heart.”

“Poor Tom. Maybe he’s on the rebound?”

“Doubtful. It was a couple of schools ago.”

“Did he say what he liked about this mysterious person?”

“He mentioned comic-book black hair.”

“I guess I could dye mine.”

“And he mentioned a lot of partying and a lot of—” I stop, not really knowing what to say about the rest of what Tom said.

“Oh. Well, I can’t dull my straight edge, even for Tom, but as for the other part: I’d be willing.”

“Nash! Who’s the tramp now?”

“I’m just saying.” Nash sighs. “Anything else?”

“He talked about Kayla.”

“Kayla? What about Kayla?”

“Well, they had that date.” I kick myself for mentioning it. “It seems like they had fun, but I couldn’t tell if he was being nice or if he actually liked hanging out with her.”

“God, Kayla Hill is like my own personal train wreck.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s messing with you and with Tom,” he says. “I want her to leave my friends alone.”

“She’s not messing with me, Nash. We had coffee. And I had fun, kind of. That’s not a mess.”

“Maggie, I hope I’m not the only one who remembers seventh grade,” Nash says. “I did the repair work last time. It was not pretty. Please don’t tell me the girl can buy you one frappuccino and all is forgiven.”

“It was an americano, and I bought it myself.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying, she’s not worth it.”

“Nash, I get it. You’re mad that she asked Tom out,” I say. “But you can’t expect him to survive with only us as friends.”

“I don’t expect that. But I hoped both of you would have better taste.”

“Kayla can offer him access to a whole different world.”

“A world where the lovely and vapid go to play.”

“I’ll give you lovely, but Kayla’s not vapid.”

“Okay, fine, not vapid. Unimaginative?” Nash says. “And why are you defending her, anyway?”

“Why are you dumping on her?”

“Because she’s a bitch who tried to destroy my best friend and I don’t want her doing it again.”

“You never liked Kayla.”

“That’s not true, Maggie. I never cared about Kayla. There’s a difference.”

“What difference?” I ask.

“I don’t care about her, so she can’t hurt me. You, however, seem determined to relive your painful past.”

“Nash, I know you’re trying to protect me. And I can never repay you for holding my hand through all my crazy when Kayla crushed me in middle school.”

“Obliterated you is more like it. And it took more than just some hand-holding to bring you back.”

“I know, Nash. You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“The feeling is so very mutual. But please remember: I like my Maggie intact and fabulous, as you were meant to be.”