and actually order beer. So when Cal suggested we go to the Pelican Inn, my first thought was: This is one shared dream he and I will realize together. And there was a sense of contentment in that. A softening in my heart. But right away the softness gave way to an impending melancholy, a pressing in of regret, of all that had been lost.
Cal hopped into October’s SUV with the gusto of a windstorm, and I couldn’t help but follow. This is why Cal had always been a good ally for me. His enthusiasm is contagious. It’s hard for me to get excited about most things, but Cal has the ability to flip a switch and turn on my fun side.
October drove through downtown Mill Valley and headed up Marion Avenue toward our intended destination, but when she got to Edgewood, instead of continuing straight, Cal said, “Make a right.”
October turned, and as soon as she did I knew where Cal was taking us. October did not and said, “This isn’t the way to the Pelican Inn.”
“Detour down Memory Lane,” Cal told her. A minute later he said, “Up there, on the right. Pull over.” He pointed down a long, sloping driveway and said, “There it is. Bob Harper’s masterpiece.”
Masterpiece was a facetious term. The house was three stories of cutting corners made to look fancy. Bob’s clients typically wanted the biggest, showiest houses on the block, not the most well-built ones, and Bob had constructed our family’s house in a similar manner. The house was still standing though, and it didn’t look much different than it looked back when Cal and I were teenagers, so maybe it was a masterpiece and I was an ungrateful shit.
October parked on the side of the road just north of the property and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’m assuming this is where you grew up.”
I nodded.
“I grew up here too,” Cal said. “In high school, I spent more days and nights in this house than in my own. As a matter of fact, the first time I ever touched a boob was right there in that garage.”
“Shit,” I mumbled. “Kathleen Kelly.”
Cal threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t believe you remember her name!”
“Of course I do. She traumatized me.”
Cal’s laugh came from deep in his gut. “Tell October the story! You tell it way funnier than I do!”
Most people would describe me as dry and somber, but for some reason Cal found me uproarious. I looked at October and said, “Kathleen Kelly wasn’t some girl from our school. She was one of Ingrid’s friends.”
“Ingrid is Harp’s mom,” Cal clarified.
“Yeah. So, my mom is having this party one night. Cal and I were what—sophomores at the time?”
“Not even. It was the spring of our freshman year.”
“Right. And Kathleen comes out to the garage where we were practicing; she’s drunk out of her mind, and wearing this low-cut blouse.”
“Like, to here,” Cal said, pointing to his bellybutton.
“Pretty much,” I agree. “And she asks us straight up if we’ve ever seen a topless woman before.”
At this point Cal is laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “Tell October what you asked Kathleen!”
I shrugged. “What? All I said was ‘In person?’ because I didn’t know if she meant in real life or on TV. We’d obviously seen naked women on TV. It seemed like a legitimate question.”
October was chuckling now too, looking back and forth between Cal and me.
“Anyway,” I went on, “Kathleen unbuttons her shirt and unhooks her bra right in front of us. The door to the house wasn’t even closed. And then she says, ‘Who wants to touch them?’”
“And they’re huge and fake and, like, rippled,” Cal explains. “Imagine unripe cantaloupes.”
October made her paper-belly face. “No . . .”
“Both of us are standing there, frozen and terrified, our jaws on the floor, and Kathleen is saying, ‘C’mon, c’mon, doesn’t anybody want to touch them?’ and finally Cal raises his hands. Plural. He raised both his hands.” This is where I started to crack up. “Your face,” I said to Cal. “I remember how concerned you were. Like you felt bad I wasn’t volunteering and had to do Kathleen a favor.”
“That’s exactly how I felt!”
I tapped October on the shoulder so that she would look at me, and then I raised my hands and stretched out my fingers like Cal had done, to show her. “No kidding, his hands are like this, and he says, ‘Fine, fine, I’ll