Bloodthirsty - By Flynn Meaney Page 0,55

Kate’s house, I stole glances in the rearview mirror, made serious faces, and asked my dashboard, “Where is this relationship going?” I practiced the words out loud: “Kate, would you be okay with calling me your boyfriend?” No, that seemed misogynistic and controlling somehow. It should be, “Can I call you my girlfriend?”

No. All of that sounded lame. It sounded desperate. It sounded like I was trying too hard, which is exactly what I’d done wrong with Celine. As I pulled into the driveway, I resolved not to make the same mistake with Kate and her family.

It was Kate’s dad who opened the door. We’d only met very briefly last time after the movie. Now I reasserted my impression with a super-firm and manly handshake.

“Mr. Gallatin,” I said. “Thanks so much for having me.”

“Nice to see you, Finbar,” he said. “Here, come meet Janice.”

I shook hands with Kate’s mother—more gently. Both of Kate’s parents were tall and thin. They were pretty old, too. They had white hair and they weren’t even trying to hide it, the way my mom hid her gray hair by dyeing it and my dad covered his bald spot with baseball caps that fooled no one. Kate’s mom, Janice, wasn’t a MILF, but that was preferable for me. MILFs kind of scare me. I don’t know how to work garter belts and stockings. So a regular mom was preferable. Although, to give Kate’s mom the benefit of the doubt, she probably was a MILF back when Kate’s three older siblings were young. And if she had grandchildren soon, she could definitely be a GILF.

Oh, Jesus, what was I doing with all these lustful thoughts? Kate’s parents were Catholic just like mine. Everyone knows Catholics have, like, X-ray vision for sexual thoughts. For example, freshman year at St. Luke’s we had this amazingly hot English teacher, Ms. Alexander. She was a great teacher—in fact, I stopped thinking about her chest long enough to comprehend dangling modifiers—but she quit by November. This is because she had X-ray vision and could see all the perverted things we were all thinking about her.

Or maybe she got a hint from Johnny Frackas’s “10 Goals for My Life” essay, which Sean O’Connor had stolen and written in a #11: “Do Ms. Alexander up the ass.”

Anyway, I didn’t want the Gallatins knowing all the thoughts I had about Kate. Not that I thought about #11. No way! What do you think of me? But I’m not gonna say I didn’t think about Kate when I was in bed. Or in the shower. Or in the kitchen…

“You like it spicy, Finbar?” Kate’s mother asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.

Huh? Spicy? I was startled in the living room where I was sitting on the couch next to Kate, clutching a glass of Pepsi. I began to sweat.

“Your Thai food?” Kate’s mom asked. “Do you like it spicy?”

“Oh,” I said, relieved. “Sure.”

Kate raised her eyebrow at me. She could tell I was nervous.

Kate’s parents popped in and out of the kitchen as they cooked. They were pretty easy to talk to. They asked me all about our move from Indiana. It turns out Mr. Gallatin had grown up in Illinois, and used to go white-water rafting not too far from Alexandria. Kate’s parents had all these cool hobbies. They went camping and they had a kayak. They did things I’d only seen in Eddie Bauer catalogs. They asked if my parents had any hobbies. I don’t think extreme cleaning is a sport yet, so I said my mom didn’t.

“But my dad’s thinking about taking up surfing,” I said.

When Kate and I went into the dining room, I kind of regretted being so casual about the whole “do you like spicy food” thing, considering I usually ate food that was the same color as my skin. You know, popcorn, baked potatoes, unsauced chicken breasts. Now I was staring at a veritable after-school special of different colors and shapes climbing all over each other in joy. The steaming pot that Mr. Gallatin set on the table was a dish that he called Dragon Curry.

The Gallatins didn’t say grace, so I couldn’t put off this meal any longer. There were hunks of chicken on my plate covered in green and red flakes. The chicken smelled spicy, but maybe just those red and green flakes were spicy. When no one was looking, I scraped off the red flakes first. Then I began on the green, but Mr. Gallatin