Little Miss Red Page 12

  Sheesh. As far as I knew she only made brisket for the Jewish holidays, and every time, she complained about how time-consuming it was.

  “We’ll dine by candlelight with the candelabras,” she went on. I couldn’t believe it—no one had ever actually used them as far as I knew. “And, as we eat the macaroons I got for dessert, I thought Jack might want to see the video from your Bat Mitzvah, Sophie.”

  “What?! Noooo!” I cried. As far as I was concerned, looks-wise, my Bat Mitzvah was the darkest day of my life. I had begged Mom to let me get a body wave a week before, and it had gone seriously wrong, and the trapeze dress I had worn made me look like the poster child for How to Commit Fashion Suicide.

  “That sounds awesome, Roz,” Jack said, ignoring my freak-out. “There aren’t any Jewish people in Pointed Fork, so I’ve always been curious about what a Bar or Bat Mitzvah was like.”

  All through dinner I felt nauseous. Not just because the brisket was undercooked, or because the heat from the sixteen blazing candles was giving me a headache. It was more because I was nervous about whether Jack would still like me when he saw the red cowboy hat–less version of me.

  Once dinner was done, and we moved into the living room, I started getting even more nervous. Then Grandma started up the video. The macaroons were chocolate-covered, so they made things a little more bearable, but still, if they gave out Olympic medals for sitting still while dying a slow death from embarrassment, I would’ve won the gold. Why hadn’t anyone told me I had been so off-key as I warbled the opening prayers that day? It was beyond humiliating to have to listen to my thirteen-year-old self, especially because I was sitting next to a working musician. Thankfully, the plastic on the couch helped to keep me in my seat. It was on all the furniture—including the La-Z-Boy recliner—and the green carpeting was also covered with plastic runners. Mom was always saying that next thing you knew, there’d be velvet ropes blocking the room off, like they have in museums.

  What was amazing was Jack’s reaction to the whole thing. Instead of snickering or yawning, he seemed to be genuinely interested.

  “Wow, Red—that’s real impressive, the way you know all that Hebrew,” he announced after the part where I read my Haftorah.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never would’ve thought you had so much rhythm,” he said as thirteen-year-old-me did the Electric Slide.

  “I knew you had a bit of a wild side!” he said during the part where I sat in the chair while the adults hoisted me over their heads and marched me around the dance floor.

  Was he serious? I couldn’t help looking around to see if there was a hidden camera somewhere.

  “Thanks for pretending to be interested in the video,” I said later as we walked toward the Pagoda of Delights.

  “What do you mean, ‘pretend’?”

  I stopped. “Well, you didn’t actually mean all that stuff you said…did you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  I searched his face for one of his half-smiles or a wink, but he looked serious.

  “But—”

  “But what?” he said.

  I double-checked the lounge chair to make sure it wasn’t in danger of breaking, and flopped down on it. That girl in the video didn’t have a wild side. That girl wasn’t who I wanted to be—she wasn’t who I wanted him to think I was. But I didn’t think I could hide it anymore. “We’re from such different worlds.” Devon was always from a different world from the men she fell for, but this was a whole new thing for me.

  He shrugged. “Arkansas is part of the United States.”

  Even though it was still at least seventy-five degrees out, I wrapped my arms around myself. Maybe if I could scrunch up into a small enough ball, I could disappear. “Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “But you’re probably used to going out with girls like Juliet DeStefano. Even if her first name ends in a consonant,” I muttered to myself.

  “Who’s Juliet DeStefano?” he asked, confused.

  “This girl at my school. She’s exciting and mysterious and”—the time had come to be completely honest with him—“well, I’m…not,” I said quietly. “Sure, being with you has brought out a different side of me. Like, for instance, before I met you, I never would’ve put on boots that had been on someone else’s feet. But, Jack, I feel like you need to know this: I’m really pretty ordinary.”

  He sat down next to me. “Ordinary?! What are you talking about? You’re not ordinary at all! You’re smart and funny and sweet. And with the hat and the boots?” He whistled. “Well, no disrespect or anything, but you’re a scorcher, Red.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Jack, that’s sweet of you, but seriously—I’m just…normal. I like to go see romantic comedies at big multiplex theaters, and I watch reality television, and I take vitamins. Oh, and I start to freak out if I go more than two days without eight hours of sleep a night.”

  He shrugged. “I like to sleep too. Sometimes I don’t get up till one in the afternoon.”

  I gave one of my heavier sighs. “I’m just afraid you’d get bored of me.” I went on. “I’m not wild or bipolar. I mean, even if I wanted to, I could never be one of those girls who did the push-pull thing with a guy to keep him interested.”

  “Yeah, you don’t seem like the type,” he sighed. “That being said, you’re an excellent listener, which is a hard quality to find in a person. In fact, you remind me a lot of my shrink. I’m not gonna lie—I don’t have a problem meeting girls. But you, Red—you’re different.” He thought about it. “It’s like you’ve got a lot of weight to you. I don’t mean fat or anything like that—more like…substance. Those other girls—the Brandis, the Andis, the Randis—they’re fun and all, but they’re like Chinese food. A little exotic, and spicy, if that’s what you want, but a half hour later you’re hungry again.” He pointed at me. “But you…you’re more like a hearty stew. Fills you up and keeps you warm.”

  I smiled. At first listen a “hearty stew” didn’t sound very romantic, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it actually was. I was marveling at how it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, when my iPhone buzzed. But for once in my life, I didn’t pick it up and I let it buzz. I was done being a slave to an electronic device. Whatever it was could wait, especially since it was probably just another announcement of some sale. But the buzzing was so…insistent. Which is why I decided to be a slave just for old time’s sake and picked it up.

  yo. what up? i’ve been thinking about it & i think we should push the stop button. it’s not fair to hold u up while i figure stuff out. peace, M

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Michael was supposed to call me, and I was going to tell him that I wanted to push the stop button! This was the second time that he got to be the one to say things weren’t working. It was so not fair.

  “Everything okay, Red?” Jack asked.

  As I looked at him, all anxious and caring, I realized that, actually, it was better it went down like this. Now, when Michael found out about Jack, he wouldn’t be so heartbroken. He’d be able to tell himself that he had broken up with me even though the truth was that I had ended it in my mind way before that.

  What mattered now was that since Michael had made the decision and pushed the stop button, all the guilt I felt about wanting to kiss Jack was gone. The Universe finally gave me the go-ahead! Maybe the Pagoda of Delights wasn’t the most romantic setting in the world for a first kiss, especially with the ice machine making so much noise, but it sure was better than outside McDonald’s, which is where Michael and I had first kissed.

  “Everything’s fine,” I replied with a smile. As Devon also liked to say, I was now “unencumbered by the shackles of duty and gliding toward my destiny.” I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I had a feeling it perfectly described how I felt. “In fact, it’s all good,” I added as I leaned in, finally ready to kiss my soul mate for the first time.

  Before his lips even came close to touching mine, I started to hear
the fireworks and the marching bands and all those other loud noises that Devon heard when a hot guy kissed her.

  Then his lips did touch mine, the fireworks stopped, and it got super-quiet.

  It wasn’t like I had a ton of experience—I mean, other than Michael, the only other guy I had kissed was Camp Guy—but I knew enough from movies and books to know that kissing didn’t involve gnawing at a person’s lip like it was corn on the cob.

  After what felt like hours but was really only about thirty seconds, Jack stopped gnawing and came up for air.

  “Wow, Red,” he said, wiping his mouth. “That was awesome. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you’d be such a good kisser.”

  How could he even tell how good or bad I was? He was mauling my face, and I had barely even had a chance to kiss back. “Uh, thanks,” I replied warily.

  He flopped back on his lounge chair and grinned. “We’ve got great chemistry, huh?” he asked with a wink.

  I leaned back on my own lounge chair. I was too dazed to even answer him. How could someone so hot be so bad at kissing? And what did this mean for our relationship? Were we doomed? When Dante kissed Devon for the first time, it had gone on for hours, and afterward she compared it to drinking two 2-liter bottles of water after having taken both a spin class and a yoga class. I, on the other hand, felt like I had just swallowed a cup of salt, because of the brisket.

  He stood up. “Man, that made me thirsty. I’m gonna get a Coke. Want anything?”

  I shook my head.

  He leaned down and pecked me on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nodded. Maybe the kiss had been so bad because he was just really nervous. Even though it was hard to believe, beautiful people did, in fact, get nervous. I had read about it once in a magazine article about a twenty-year-old Russian supermodel.

  As I watched him bang at the soda machine, I looked up at the three-quarters-full moon.

  “Hi, God?” I said quietly. “I know we don’t talk a lot, so You might just ignore this because of that, but if You are listening, I just wanted to ask if maybe You could do something about the kissing stuff? You know, like teach Jack how to do it better? Because I was thinking…I mean, the fact that You put Jack in that seat next to me on the plane…it just had to be because You want us to be together and fall in love, right? It’s just too…fateful. Like how Devon walked into the diner in Montana just as Dante was walking out and they bumped into each other and Devon almost fell because she was wearing high heels in the snow and so she grabbed onto Dante’s arms to steady herself and he pulled her close and they fell madly in love at that moment.”

  A light went on in one of the condos near the gazebo, and an old woman in curlers glared at me from the window. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Jack’s banging or because it looked like I was talking to myself instead of God.

  “Anyway,” I continued once she put the shade back down, “I know kissing isn’t everything, but it does mean a lot—especially since, You know, I don’t really do…more than that.”

  Boy, even though I wasn’t Catholic, it was still really weird talking to God about sex stuff.

  “Ha! Gotcha!” Jack yelled as I heard the can clunk down to the bottom of the machine.

  “Okay, listen, I have to go because he’s coming back,” I whispered. “But I’d reallyreallyreally appreciate anything You can do. Thanks.”

  As I waved to Jack, I turned my head to the side. “Oh, right. Amen,” I added.

  After he chugged down half the can, he yawned. “Wow, I’m beat.” He patted his stomach. “Must be that third helping of brisket. Ready to go in?”

  “I guess so,” I said as I stood up. I knew the emotional and intellectual connection in a relationship was much more important than the physical stuff, but I couldn’t help feeling completely bummed out. Did that make me beyond shallow? I hoped not.

  “Cool. But I think I need another one of these first,” he said, grabbing me by the shoulders and kissing me again.

  After he chewed on my face for a few seconds, I pushed him away. God must have been busy listening to someone in the Middle East or Africa or something because this kiss was just as bad. This time he licked my nose. Obviously, I couldn’t rely on Him to fix this. The time had come to take matters into my own hands.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking…my mouth is on the small side, so maybe we could try it with a little less…tongue?” I said nervously. Was it rude to give guys kissing pointers? I had never had to say anything to Michael, because he was a good kisser, so I wasn’t sure.

  “You mean like this?” he asked, leaning in and kissing me gently. He pulled away. “How’s that?”

  It was definitely better. Kind of like a B-minus instead of a D. “That was great. Just one more thing: do you think that instead of tilting your head to the left, you could tilt it to the right instead?”

  “I’m left-handed, though,” he replied.

  I wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything.

  He smiled. “But I’ll give it a try,” he said, leaning in.

  That was the last thing I remembered before the fireworks started exploding. Just a few at first. But within an hour, he was up to an A-minus. Jack may have been teaching me how to walk on the wild side, but I was teaching him how to kiss.

  nine

  It’s funny how you can go from hating something to loving it, which is what happened for me with Florida that week. Suddenly, the fact that it took three times as long to get anywhere in the Delray Beach/Boca Raton area than it did in the rest of the world—because old people are horrible drivers—didn’t bother me anymore. In fact, I started to see it as cute and charming. The idea that the old man at Red Robin was yelling at the waitress because she had brought him real butter and not light canola oil spread for his baked potato wasn’t annoying; instead, I saw that he loved his wife so much he wanted to stay alive and be with her for as long as possible. The fact that it took Jack and I almost fifteen minutes to get from one end of the mall to the other because we were behind an old woman with a walker wasn’t frustrating; it just gave us time to gaze into each other’s eyes as we enjoyed the cheesy piano player playing “It Had to Be You.”

  “Red, you’re so much fun to make out with,” he said one evening as we came up for air. We had driven to the beach to watch the sunset, but because a huge downpour started when we got there, we were stuck in the Buick. Not that I minded.

  “I feel the same way about you,” I whispered, reaching down into my boot to pull up my sock.

  Occasionally, I still thought about Michael. But even when things were at their best with him, they had never been this good. For the last few months I had spent our make-out sessions—the few that we had had—going over the chemical element tables and conjugating the past perfect tenses of French verbs in my head. But with Jack I was 100 percent right there in the moment. Even when I tried to jump ahead into the future and think about the fights we’d have about the appropriate age for our son to get a motorbike, or whether it was okay for our daughter to get a tramp stamp of a butterfly before she went off to college, something about being with Jack just took me out of my head and slammed me back into my body. He was like a living, breathing yoga class.

  “It’s weird, but I just feel so safe with you,” he went on. “Maybe it’s because most of the girls I go out with are real drama queens and you’re so…not.”

  I smiled. I was so glad I had talked to him about being a normal girl. Ever since he compared me to a hearty stew, I had been okay with not having a dramatic life like Devon or Juliet. Girls who wore seat belts and sunblock could still be sexy.

  I used to hate the way that the way-too-bright Florida sun made everything look so harsh—especially the scowls on the faces of all the Edenites whenever kids made the mistake of making noise in the pool as if they were having fun. But the next morning, I sat on a lounge chair slathered in SPF 55 (thankfully, I
still had enough of my emergency money left over to buy some) with zinc oxide on my nose and my red cowboy hat on my head, and it looked like the Edenites were charmed and not at all annoyed by Jack’s whooping and splashing as he did cannonball after cannonball off the edge of the pool. I mean, I couldn’t tell for sure, because I was wearing my Chunnels, but how could they not find him as adorable as I did?

  “Hey Red, watch this!” he yelled as he climbed out of the pool in the neon yellow swim trunks Grandma Roz had insisted he borrow from Art.

  “Okay, I’m watching!” I yelled back, cringing slightly when he almost tripped on an oxygen tank as he made his way back to the edge of the pool.

  “You sure you’re watching?” he shouted, doing knee bends and cracking his knuckles.

  “Yup!” I yelled back. It was very inspiring to be around a person who had such high self-esteem and so much confidence. Not only didn’t he mind people looking at him, but he actually seemed to love it.

  He walked back a few paces and, with a running start, did a flip into the water.

  “Jack, that was awesome!” I yelled once he came up for air. I don’t think he had planned to land on his belly like that, but the fact that he could stand that amount of pain (the smack of his stomach on the water was really loud) was beyond impressive.

  He swam over to the side of the pool and jumped out, making his way through the sea of Edenites who stared at him in awe. Although, when I squinted, I realized that maybe they were staring at him in annoyance. He was dripping all over them. But one of the things I loved about Jack was the fact that even though the old people didn’t even try to hide their disapproval when they first met him and saw his tattoo, he still was able to completely win them over with his charm. Even Grandma Roz’s best friend, Mrs. Bernstein (who was crankier than Grandma Roz), was now calling him bubelah.

  When he got to me, I put aside my copy of Propelled by Passion so he wouldn’t drip on it and handed him a towel.