again.
“Dave, it’s okay—” she said, but he didn’t let her continue. He
dropped his beer to the ground, ignoring the way it splashed at his
feet and soaked his legs, and he finally kissed Gretchen.
She tasted like honey, too. Her lips were warm and soft and wet,
all the descriptions he’d read and heard and imagined a thousand
times, sure. But they were so much more than that. They were real,
and wonderful.
158 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES
AGAINST THE CURRENT
WHEN THE PARTY had mostly cleared out—excepting the few
people passed out on couches or in the pillow fort at the foot of the
stairs, plus a couple making out in the yard—Dave and Julia started
going about the task of making the house somewhat presentable
before the dads returned from Napa in the morning.
“I’d say that was a success,” Julia said, grabbing cans and tossing
them into a garbage bag. Dave was searching the house for cups that
people had tossed aside, the taste of Gretchen’s kiss still on his lips, a warmth inside him that loomed much larger than the buzzed, in-love-with-the-world feeling from the Kapoor party. That had been a flame,
and this was a fire.
“Yeah, pretty great turnout. Maybe we’ve been wrong all this time
about what makes someone a good beer host. I thought being from
Bangladesh and having hundreds of siblings was a requirement, but it
turns out you have what it takes, too.”
“I think the only real requirement is vast quantities of alcohol and
a house to put it all in. And the attendance of a man on the cusp of
celebrity such as yourself to lure in the masses, of course.” Julia kicked at the charred remains of the bonfire, then used a log that hadn’t been
burned to scoop some of the cans into her bag. “The dads are going to
empty my college fund when they see this. Good thing they already
emptied it out for their restaurant venture! Student loans here I come.”
When Dave didn’t say anything—he was still recalling how he’d
kissed Gretchen good night at the front door before she left, the smile
on her face—Julia said, “Just kidding, I’m a little drunk. I’m sure they were always planning on making me get student loans.”
Dave took their garbage bags to the curb, then came back and
grabbed new ones from beneath the sink. Julia was already in the
kitchen, examining the remains of the chips and dips. “Gnarly, someone
ate all of the butter.” She brought the bowls to the sink and dropped
them in with a clatter. Whoever it was that had fallen asleep on the
couch moaned in complaint at the sound. “Never mind, it’s all right
here on the carpet.”
Dave rustled his fresh garbage bag to get it to open up. He slid in
some crumbs and a couple of cups from the kitchen table, then took
a seat on one of the chairs, staring off into the distance. “Hey, did you notice that Gretchen was here?”
“Yeah,” Julia said, picking with a fingernail at something on the
kitchen counter. “I saw you two being chummy. You running for
student council, too? Prom queen? Mayor? You’re running for mayor?
I’ve created an ambitious, power-hungry monster. Forgive me, world!”
She giggled, then walked toward the living room. “Well, shit. Maybe
the beers on the ceiling fan were not a good idea.”
Dave followed her gaze to a beer can that had lodged itself in the
drywall. “Yikes.”
160 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES
Julia walked up to the beer in the wall, studying it, as if afraid that if she tried to pull it out the whole house would come crumbling down.
“There’s a joke here about how alcohol kills; I just don’t have it yet.”
Dave took a deep breath. “I like Gretchen,” he said.
“Don’t drink and fan? No, that doesn’t make sense,” Julia said.
She scrunched her mouth to one side of her face, thoughtful.
“Can-cer. Beer. Something about holes?” Julia’s arms dropped to her
sides. “Eh, I’ve got nothing.” She turned back toward Dave. “What
were you saying about Gretchen?”
“Nothing. I just think she’s cool,” Dave said, suddenly feeling tired.
“Cool as a cardboard cutout.” Julia chuckled.
Dave hid the scowl that he could feel forming by fiddling with the
trash bag in his hand. Julia was drunk; he should take what she was
saying with a grain of salt.
“You know, at the Kapoors’, I was pretty entertained by how
lame everyone was. Tonight it just seemed sad. I had the exact same
conversation with three people. Whole sentences were repeated. It’s
like the same person is writing all their dialogue.”
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”
“Dave, you know I swore off hyperbole a thousand years ago.”
Julia grabbed a nearby beer can and walked over to the kitchen,
pouring out the contents into