Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,33

per annum doesn’t seem so promiscuous to me but, feeling surprisingly vulnerable, I decide not to get into it.

ME

Well, then I’ll hold off on having his babies!

I pretend to be amused by my humor. You don’t.

YOU

I didn’t see it coming, that’s all.

Still cranky but you’re trying.

ME

Neither did I!

Literally. We walk in silence.

I think I’ll still have a run for my money for biggest tramp in school.

You peer at me from the corner of your eye, the way you always do when you’re about to give in.

YOU

Not a sure thing, maybe, but you definitely have a shot.

ME

Definitely!

I finally get a smile.

Well, I’m pretty sure it won’t happen again.

YOU

Pretty?

ME

Pretty definitely sure.

You seem almost appeased and let it go. I guess deep down I knew you’d be weird about it or I would have told you sooner. We get away with small talk for the rest of the walk home. You pause as we part company at your house.

YOU

Saturday’s supposed to be warmer than usual. We should make the best of it.

ME

Sure.

YOU

So, I’ll come by your house Saturday morning.

Good way to patch up this weirdness. You wave and leave me standing here, still thrown by your reaction to it all. I’m pretty sure we won’t talk about the Gabe incident again.

THEATER. THE NEXT DAY.

We’ve started rehearsals for the second half of the play. Even you’re here today, finalizing lighting design, and I can see you settled in the third row. The rest of us are learning how to dance, fifties style, for a scene in act three. Gabe looks like he should be coordinated but he’s struggling. He sways like he’s playing dodgeball. Mia comes toward us, a soft maroon dress hugging her figure. (I’m almost tempted to revisit my “kiss without consequences” vibe.) I hope she’ll reach for me but she pairs with Gabe, easing toward him to soften his posture. I hover, envious, until she remembers me. Then, as everyone else has been paired, she points me in the direction of the only person not already dancing. You. We grin awkwardly when you reach me onstage because of all the things we’ve done together through the years, slow dancing isn’t one of them. Bouncing around like rock stars in my bedroom, maybe, but not this! A couple of people smile, seeing us deflect embarrassment with overzealous puppet sways. I spare another look, still tinged (okay, saturated) with envy, at Mia and Gabe over your shoulder, his hand on her waist and, with nothing left to do, we fit clumsily together. Right away, I feel my self-consciousness lift, surprised by how natural it feels. We turn smoothly together around the stage. Soon, caught up in the music, I forget how silly it is that it’s you, and for a second, I even forget about Mia. I tip my head back, like ballroom dancers when they waltz, and we swoop giddily around the room, the music lifting my spirits until the lights above us spin and the room disappears and all I can hear is music and the sound of both of us laughing.

MY BEDROOM. SATURDAY.

When I wake up, the sun is streaming through the gap in the curtain. It already feels warmer. The November breeze blows gently through the open window and I roll onto my side, stretching my arm out beside me. I look at my hand, spreading my fingers across the pillow. Still in the throes of sleep, and with faint memories of the remnants of a dream I was having, I touch my fingertips to the fabric, trying to remember what it had just felt like to believe it wasn’t cotton beneath them. I close my eyes to hold on to the romanticized version of myself from my dream. Aware of my hair fanned across the pillow, my slip cool against my skin, I imagine how it will be to someday wake up beside someone, to feel an arm around my waist when I open my eyes. I tuck in my lower lip, thinking of how I want to look when I know someone is watching, and wondering if someone I want will ever be watching. Stretching, I open my eyes to the real world, slip sleepily out of bed, and blunder downstairs to make tea.

THE KITCHEN. MOMENTS LATER.

I’m pressing down a piece of toast when I hear the bell. For some reason I’m not thinking about who it might be as I pad to the front door. I tug it open and take one look at you.

ME

Shit! Forgot.

It’s