Ramona Blue

  Then I step forward and slide my hands up both his arms. I can feel goose bumps forming as I do. Freddie’s eyes are wide but steady on my every movement.

  I take another small step forward and I kiss him. I kiss Freddie in a room full of all the people I love most. It’s my way of telling him he’s not a secret. He is not a phase.

  Freddie kisses me back, one hand sinking into my hair and the other wrapping around my waist and up my spine as his lips softly melt into mine. For a moment, my body melts against his, and it’s easy to ignore the deafening silence around us.

  JANUARY

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Well, add that to the list of shit I thought I’d never see,” Saul says.

  A door slams shut behind us, and we both pull apart at the same time.

  I glance around to find an array of responses staring back at us. Tyler: blank. Hattie: smug. Adam and Reggie: delighted confusion. And Saul: total surprise.

  “Ruth,” I breathe.

  Freddie tells me with his eyes to go find her, and I nod.

  I don’t have to go far. She’s sitting there on the steps a few feet from Saul’s front door.

  She eyes me over her shoulder. “Just needed some air.”

  “Can I join you?” I ask.

  She shrugs.

  But I take it; knowing her it’s the closest thing to an invitation I’ll get. “Saul and Reggie seem good together,” I say. “Really happy.”

  She cuts to the chase. “So you and Freddie?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  She exhales. “I guess that turned out to be more than a one-time hypothetical thing.”

  I pull my knees to my chest. “You think I’m making a mistake.”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  I laugh. “Well, that’s encouraging.”

  She shakes her head. “Friendship turned romance is like the breeding ground of mistakes. But not because he’s a boy. I don’t think so at least. I mean, it’s not like he magically turned you straight or something.”

  I practically snort. “Yeah. No shot of that happening.”

  Ruth groans. “I feel so stupid.”

  She blinks and a tear rolls down her cheek. After wiping it away, she rips the headband Saul finally forced upon her off her head.

  I get it. I understand why Ruthie is upset. Saul just left home. I’m . . . making out with a boy. It’s a lot of unforeseen change all at once.

  “I don’t even like you.” She laughs. “In any other town we would have never been friends.”

  “But this isn’t any other town.”

  “You don’t have your shit together. You don’t care about your future. You have the most ridiculous hair.” She pauses. “But you make me feel normal.”

  I reach for her hand, but she only lets me hold it for a second before pulling back.

  “First Saul, and now you.” She pauses for a moment. “I know that doesn’t really make any sense. I know that liking guys in addition to girls only changes what you decide to call yourself. You’re allowed to have the realization that sexuality is fluid or whatever. But in this weird way I feel like I’m losing you. And Saul, too. I’m losing both of you at once,” she says. “And if you and I don’t have this thing in common anymore, why are we even friends? Ya know?”

  “Ruthie, nothing between us is changing. You know that. Our lives are . . . evolving, sure, but whatever it is that exists between us will always be there. Maybe liking girls was the common thread that drew us together, but it’s not all that’s kept us together and you know it. And I still like girls. A lot. Kissing Freddie doesn’t suddenly erase that part of me.”

  She sighs. “I know.”

  We sit quietly, but the world around us is anything but silent. Music and shouts of “Happy New Year” echo from the apartments above and below.

  “It makes me sad,” she says. “To see you kiss him.” And then she quickly adds, “I’m not jealous.”

  “I know,” I tell her.

  “It’s never been like that between us. But I feel like part of you is dying. And it’s the part I most recognize.” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to shake some thought in place and make it stick. “Feelings are gross. Did you know that? They’re the actual worst.”

  I smile. Feelings are gross. If I’m being honest with myself, there’s a small part of me that is sad every time I kiss Freddie, because I feel like little by little the person I thought I was is disappearing. Almost like I’ve lost what makes me special. But there has to be more. I’m made up of tiny pieces; scattered, they’re nothing more than sharp edges. But all those pieces combined are what make me Ramona.

  “I wish I had answers,” I tell her. “I wish I could tell you I’m gay or straight or bi or a homoromantic demisexual.” I laugh. I can’t help myself. “Do you know how much easier that would feel? But I don’t know what all this means. Maybe I won’t for a while or maybe I’ll know next week.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me,” she admits, “how you can not know.” She shrugs. “But I guess I don’t have to get it, do I? I just gotta be here for you.” She turns to me. “And I am. Just so you know.”

  I smile warmly and nudge her in the ribs with my elbow. “We’ll always have Vermont, though, right?”

  She nods. “We’ll always have Vermont.”

  We talk for a while longer about what it’s like at home without Saul and how her parents have responded to Reggie. I don’t know if we’re okay, but I feel like maybe we’re redefining what okay means for us.

  We all stay the night at Saul and Reggie’s. Hattie and Tyler take the guest room. (It still blows my mind that Saul even has a guest room and how adult that makes him.) Ruth takes the couch and Adam spreads out on an air mattress in the kitchen, leaving Freddie and me with an unzipped sleeping bag as our blanket on the floor. But I don’t mind it. Reggie lays a few thick blankets and throw pillows beneath us, forming some sort of pallet.

  It’s not long before Ruth is lightly snoring a few feet away. Adam took a little too much advantage of the no-parents situation and drank himself to sleep an hour ago. Fireworks still shoot off all along the beach as Freddie and I whisper back and forth in the dark. We each lie on our sides, turned toward each other.

  “Does Ruth hate me?” he asks.

  I smile. “No more than she hates everyone else.”

  “That’s good, I guess?”

  “That’s good,” I tell him.

  He traces my hairline with his index finger as I take his other hand and kiss each one of his knuckles.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

  “You mean what am I doing today?”

  “What are you doing today?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “Everything.”

  “I want to do that with you. Nothing and everything.”

  I nod. “I want that, too.” We stay like that for a while, studying each other with the tips of our fingers, like we’re reading braille. He drags his fingers along my side, pulling my shirt up as he does, and every inch of my skin begs for him as he connects the dots all over my upper body. It’s such an innocent touch that feels much more wicked than it looks.

  “Can I ask you something?” His voice is gravelly. “Something personal?”

  I press my face to his neck. “Of course.”

  “So you’re not a virgin, right?” he asks.

  “Right.”

  With Freddie, it’s not a matter of if we will have sex. It’s a matter of when. It terrifies me and it excites me and it’s not because he’s a guy and I’m a girl. It’s because he’s Freddie and I’m Ramona. The way my body reacts to his . . . it’s something I have no shame in saying I want.

  Freddie wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back to him. I press my hand against his chest, and he runs a finger over the evil-eye bracelet. “I’ve only been with Viv,” he says. “But you know that.”

  “Do you . . . are you ready to be with someone else?” I ask.

  “Are
you?” he asks.

  “I think I’ve found the right person.”

  His fingers begin to roam again, and it’s not long before my skirt is rucked up around my waist and his hand is discovering places it’s never been.

  Later, we talk for a little longer about tiny things, like how we both want to see the Olympic Games in person one day, and mysteries, like how there are tons of undiscovered species in the ocean. The gaps between his responses grow further and further apart as he sinks into the first sleep of the New Year.

  In the window, behind him, the sky glows with the smoky haze of fireworks.

  THIRTY

  “You’re not swaddling tight enough,” I tell Hattie.

  Nurse Pearce, a round black woman with ringlet curls, pops her head over Hattie’s shoulder. The deep circles beneath her eyes scream overworked, but her chipper voice sings, “She’s right!”

  Hattie growls and narrows her eyes at me.

  “You’re the one who asked me to be here,” I remind her.

  She shakes the baby doll free of the blanket and it makes a clunk sound when it lands on the changing table.

  “Tyler is the one who should have come,” I say. We’re only a few days into the new year and he’s already proved that he’s the same shitty baby daddy he was last year. “I mean, if we suck at this, imagine how bad he’ll be.” But it’s not just that. This creeping anxiety spreads through my veins, reminding me of my impending fate. If Tyler can’t be here for Hattie now, what else won’t he be here for? It’s like being at school and doing a fire drill and seeing how horribly unorganized the teachers actually are and how little your peers are paying attention. Sure, it’s only a drill, but someday the real thing will happen. For Hattie, that day is coming sooner rather than later.

  “At least he’s working.” Her voice is tired, which makes me think maybe she’s not as clueless about all this as she’s been letting on. Part of me wants to see her get it over with and call it off with Tyler. But then I’m holding out hope that he isn’t the person my heart and head say he is.

  I take the blanket from her and smooth it on the counter in front of us. “Okay, let’s do this shit.”

  The pregnant woman behind Hattie glares at me as her husband in his slacks, dress shirt, and tie checks the time on his chunky silver watch.

  “The baby can’t actually hear you,” I say under my breath.

  Before we can finish reswaddling the doll, Nurse Pearce says, “Let’s talk labor relief positions, people. Take a seat on the mat with your partner.”

  Hattie tosses the half-swaddled baby doll on the table. “My feet are killing me.”

  She sits down slowly on the blue gym mats at the center of the room, balancing on one knee at a time. A few months ago, I would have described my sister’s body as a spring. You could press her down for a moment, but the minute she felt the pressure ease, she would bounce back to life.

  I sit down behind her like Nurse Pearce instructs the class to do.

  “Ladies,” she says, “relax. Ease into your partner. Trust them to support you.”

  I remember sitting like this with Grace in her bedroom, behind closed doors. She would never quite rest the full weight of her body against mine, like she was scared I couldn’t hold the two of us up at once. But Hattie’s body sinks against me and she doesn’t hold back. I brace my hands on the ground on either side of my hips so that I can more easily support us both.

  Hattie drops her head against my chest. “Oh God,” she says. “You wanna know what would feel good right now? A bath.”

  The stopper on our bathtub drain has been broken since we were too old to take baths together anymore. Or maybe we stopped taking baths together because the stopper was broken. Either way, it wasn’t anything I ever really missed.

  “Baths are kind of gross if you think about it,” I say. “You’re just sitting in water full of dirt and dead skin.”

  “Well, thanks for ruining that for me.”

  “Now,” says Nurse Pearce. “Repeat after me: five-one-one.”

  The entire class does as she says.

  She holds up five fingers. “Contractions five minutes apart lasting one minute long for at least one hour. That’s when it’s time to call the doctor.”

  I commit it to memory. Five-one-one.

  As Nurse Pearce circles the room, discussing breathing techniques with individual couples, Hattie says, “I think I want a Mardi Gras–themed shower.”

  “Okay?”

  “That was a hint.”

  “Right.” I nod. Oh God. I don’t even know where to begin. “Well, I mean I was already working on your shower,” I lie. “But, ya know, it’s supposed to be a secret and all.”

  She laughs dryly. “Liar.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Maybe Mom will help you.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Not gonna happen.”

  “You know all that anger takes a lot of energy.”

  “You don’t like her either,” I remind her.

  “No,” she says, “but I love her.” She rubs her belly. “Ruthie and Saul will help you.”

  “This is going to be the gayest baby shower of all time,” I tell her.

  “Perfect.”

  Later that afternoon, Freddie picks me up in Agnes’s Cadillac. He gets one free car wash at work every week, so Agnes has taken advantage of that.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” Freddie says as the car rolls over the rocky terrain of the trailer park.

  “Well, it was either this or homework,” I tell him.

  As he turns onto the street, he holds out a hand for me to take. I realize I’ve never held someone’s hand in the car like this. A small, minuscule thing that somehow makes me feel like we’re an actual couple.

  As we pull up to Scrub-a-Dub, Adam points us to the entrance like he’s directing an airplane on a runway.

  Freddie rolls down the window. “Son, I need to speak to your manager.”

  “I run this bitch!” shouts Adam.

  Cindy, Adam’s mom, swings open the door to the office and gives Adam a Look with a capital L.

  “I have an itch,” he shouts.

  “Nice cover!” I call.

  He nods and gives us the thumbs-up.

  The car wash is the kind where you don’t get out of your vehicle, so Freddie directs the car onto the tracks as an attendant sprays down the grille and the windshield.

  As we roll into the garage, water sprays at us from both sides and multicolored soap spits out onto the windows, shielding us from any natural light.

  “Whoa,” I say. “Got pretty dark.”

  “I actually love it,” says Freddie. “I wish my job was to drive the cars through the wash instead of dancing outside with a giant sign. You know Adam’s mom is ordering a rubber ducky costume?”

  “Oh man, I gotta see that.”

  “Well, it’s on back order. I’m hoping it doesn’t arrive until after graduation.”

  I feel my lips slipping into a frown at the mention of graduation. Our days are numbered.

  “I decided I’m still going to LSU,” he says. “It’s where I’ve always wanted to go. And I heard Viv changed her plans and decided on Florida. So no chance of running into her at least.” He notices then that this is not a subject I have much to add to. “But forget that. I have a question.”

  I swallow. “Okay.”

  “I don’t want you to get freaked out.”

  “Well, that freaks me out a little.” I laugh nervously.

  He takes both my hands in his. “I know you may not be ready to label yourself, and . . . that’s been hard for me to understand, but I’m okay with it.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “But I was wondering if you would be interested in labeling us?”

  I inhale sharply. “What do you mean?” Even though I know exactly what he means.

  “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  Another round of rainbow soap splashes across the windows. “I—do we .
. .” I’ve played the role of girlfriend before. That’s nothing new for me. My brow furrows for a moment as I turn this over in my head. I know I’m ready to take this relationship further . . . in a physical way. And it doesn’t make sense for me not to make this commitment too. It’s not a label that means much to me. If fact, thinking back to Grace and Andrew, it’s a label I once loathed. But it means something to Freddie, and for that reason, I say, “Yes.”

  His face lights up with a stupid grin as he leans over the center console and kisses me in the dark car under a kaleidoscope of soap and bubbles, and I think everyone should make out in a car wash at least once. The car rocks gently against the brushes and the dryer until the employee guarding the end of the wash is whistling at us and waving us on to the exit.

  THIRTY-ONE

  It’s been a slow night at Boucher’s. January always crawls by, and we’re only two weeks in. Ruth and I start our closing duties early in the hope that Tommy will send us home before our shifts are up, and as we’re refilling ketchup and hot sauce, Freddie texts me.

  FREDDIE: let’s play house tomorrow.

  ME: what does that entail?

  FREDDIE: do you work tomorrow?

  ME: It’s my Saturday off.

  FREDDIE: my gram and Bart are going to the swap meet tomorrow morning.

  It’s the first time Freddie and I will have a chance to truly be alone for an extended amount of time without sneaking around in empty classrooms or stolen moments when we can duck away from our respective obligations.

  ME: I just have my route.

  FREDDIE: Which ends at my house.

  ME: True.

  FREDDIE: All roads lead to me.

  I fidget with the evil-eye bracelet tied around my wrist before responding. Ruth hums “Silent Night” to herself, even though Christmas is long gone. While she moves on to her next table, I slide into a booth and study my phone.

  ME: So just me and you?

  FREDDIE: Me. You. No pressure.

  I suck a deep breath in through my teeth.

  ME: I’ll see you in the morning.

  Freddie sits on the steps of his porch in joggers and a tank top. Agnes’s car is parked in the driveway, but Bart’s truck is gone. Like Freddie promised, they’ve gone to Biloxi for the biannual Southern Mississippi Swap Meet. I went a few times with my grandparents when I was younger. No cash is exchanged—only junk. It’s the only time of year when all the crap littering people’s front yards and garages is given actual value.