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But that doesn’t mean I’m actually going to talk to him.
Especially after what he said about his date with Chelsea. I’m not surprised it didn’t go well. It was doomed before the start. I have no idea how or why John chose the guy in the first place.
The big surprise was Ronald’s text where he saidhedidn’t want to see Chelsea again. Thathewas the one who found flaws withher.
And apparentlytold herall about them at the end of the date.
I’m not sure if it’s the heightened stress of the holiday season or what, but I’ve never found so many people to have punchable faces. Starting with my best friend and now including Ronald.
I also add myself to the punchable list. So far, I am not making great headway on the part of my plan where I show Chelsea how I feel. I’m doing marginally better at the part where I scare off her dates. Though honestly, Ronald did most of the legwork on his own.
“I guess I’ll ask Chelsea if I want real details,” John says. “And what about Gary? Is he any more promising than Ronald?”
It takes me a minute to find words that adequately describe Chelsea’s date. “You know Penguin—the villain from Batman? Gary had total Penguin vibes.”
There is a pause. “The Danny DeVito version? Because I didn’t get that impression from his photos.”
“No. More like the Penguin fromGotham.”
John and I got hooked on the Batman show in college. We made it through a few seasons before it went off the rails as many shows tend to do after about the third season.
“He was too slick,” I add.
“His hair or his personality?”
“Both.”
Maybe that’s why, when they were walking out, I pulled the cheesiest move ever and made a slicing motion across my neck when Chelsea wasn’t looking. Gary’s beady eyes went wide, and he practically tripped going out the door.
Am I proud of my behavior? Not particularly. But I also have zero regrets.
“So far, I think you’re oh-for-two,” I tell John. “Though if you were trying for animal themed dates, you’re flawless.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can ask Chelsea why we called Ronald Otter Boy.”
I shuffle over to the window, looking down at the lights below and the Colorado River winding its way through Austin. I find a loose thread at my hem and begin tugging at it, gently at first, but the next thing I know, the bottom of my T-shirt is unraveling.
“John, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“I only want what’s best for Chelsea,” he says, but I get the impression he’s holding back what he really wants to say.
“I know you do too because you care about her,” he says. “Don’t you?”
This is such an easy opening. A door, unlocked and pulled wide. I could walk right through, tell John how I really feel about his sister, and—what? Ask his permission to date her? Ask why he never even considered me as a choice, instead going through some app picking out guys like Otter Boy and The Penguin?
Just tell him. Just say it:I like Chelsea.
Like isn’t really the word, but probably best not to start with another L-word. Not when this will be coming out of left field for him.
The silence stretches out, and instead of growing more confident in confessing the truth to my best friend, I seem to be shrinking.
My animal name might as well be Cowardly Lion.
But then I think of Christmas at the Roberts’s house, the way I’m always welcomed with a smile. I think of how I called my mom that morning, and when I wished her happy holidays, she seemed surprised. Like she didn’t even know what day it was. I think of how she’s been blowing up my phone ever since, a sure sign she wants something. Usually not something I want to—or should—give her.
Mrs. Roberts gave me a stocking filled with orange Tic Tacs, new socks, and a few gift cards. The candy coal at the bottom of the stocking came from Chelsea and made me smile. They’ve always embraced me, even from the first time John brought me home.
