37. Roller House
No matter how many times I ask, Cameron refuses to tell me where he is taking me on our first official date. Would you believe it? We’ve kissed, had sex, and admitted our love for one another, but have not been on a real date. I guess in a nontraditional way we’ve been on some dates, but none that another person would acknowledge as such.
For all I know, he can be bringing me to anywhere from a fancy steak place that charges eighty dollars per inch of meat to a suspicious dirty swamp in the middle of nowhere.
Cameron takes a right turn into a parking lot of a building with giant lit up words that read: ROLLER HOUSE. Clever.
“We’re going rollerblading?”
Cameron shuts off the car. “Did I forget to mention my ten-year-old cousin’s birthday?”
My eyebrows knit together. “Our date is a ten-year-old’s birthday party?”
He says nothing. Just smiles innocently. Sounds like he was forced to come, and I’m just here to kill two birds with one stone.
“I will say that you look hot, but it’s not ideal for blading.”
I glance down to my skinny jeans and new floral blouse. I can barely bend my legs as I am in the car with them on. Brandy suggested I get a size smaller because they’ll expand in the wash. Big fat lie, but my legs look pretty okay in them. I also wear a full face of makeup and have perfectly curled hair. That’s not going to last for long.
“Well, you could have told me,” I say.
He ignores me as we exit the car and walk inside the Roller House. Early 2000s pop music is blasted on the loudspeaker, and kids are everywhere. Laughing, crying, running, blading, and dancing. I feel ridiculous in my clothes more than ever until?—
Cameron slides a hand in my farthest back pocket and leans into my hair. He tucks some of it behind my ear and speaks softly. “I know you feel out of place, but just think of what I’ll do for you after.”
I pull away and turn to hide my blush. “Not in front of the kids, pervert.”
“I’m talking about buying you ice cream, Dirty Mind,” he chuckles and kisses the side of my head.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“If you don’t want it?—”
“No, I want it.”
I follow Cameron to a table of adults that I soon recognize as his family. I identify his parents, and we greet each other with a smile. Next to them is another set of parents. Beside them, a young girl with Dutch braided brown hair. The tiara on her head tells me she’s the birthday girl. At her side is a much younger girl who must be her sister.
Cameron initiates our introduction. After I learn who everyone is, I smile at his cousin, Jemma.
“Happy birthday, Jemma.”
She smiles. “Thanks. Do you like to skate?”
“She loves to,” Cameron answers. “She’s the best I’ve ever seen.”
I raise an eyebrow. This man has never seen me skate. I haven’t done it since I was maybe six. And even then I was pretty bad at it.
Jemma’s face lights up. “You guys wanna skate with me?”
Cameron speaks for me again and nods. We depart from the others to rent some shoes. I shove my foot into a dirty size eight women’s shoe, and we start our journey to the floor. As soon as I stand up, I’m certain this is going to suck. These four-wheelers are snug on my ankles, which makes me feel, somehow, less in control of the wheels. Cameron seems totally at home in his rollerblades.
“Why do you get the blades and I have to suffer with the skates?” I ask.
“I’m a guy.”
“So you get the easier shoe?”
I grab his arm as I lose my balance. He covers his hand over mine. “Yours are the easier ones. It’s harder to balance with the blades.”
“I thought I was the best you’ve ever seen.”
“You are. At other things.”
I blush. “Why did you tell Jemma…”
“I was trying to talk you up. I figured you could at least manage in those shoes.”
I punch him in the arm, sending him away, and I nearly fall over. I hold out my arms to steady myself. It only kind of helps.
We meet Jemma on the floor, and I am overcome with jealousy when she skates without a care in the world. If I am being honest, I feel more like a ten-year-old than the actual ten-year-old in front of me. I’m back to using Cameron as my guide, and Jemma laughs when she sees us.
“I thought you were the best,” she says.
“Your cousin is a liar. I don’t know why he would say such a thing.”
Beside me, Cameron makes a laugh-snorting sound in his throat.
“Look what I can do.” Jemma changes the subject. We stop skating as she does some kind of rendition of a pirouette. My eyes are drawn to her skates. I can tell by her movement she has been practicing heavily.
I clap my hands. “Wow.”
“Show her what you’ve been practicing,” Cameron suggests.
Jemma smiles with teeth and then lowers into a split. Then she brings herself back up with such agility. It is safe to assume she is a ballerina. Something I never dreamed of being as a child. Partly because of the skintight leotard and partly because of the strength and talent that is required.
My face must betray my utter shock because Jemma laughs. “I can teach you.”
“Heck no. I am not that talented nor flexible. Maybe you can show me the spin again.”
Cameron takes off, leaving me unprotected. He says Jemma will keep me safe because he’s so damn funny.
Jemma seizes the opportunity to teach me how to spin. It takes me over ten tries, and even then I’m still stiff and wobbly.
“Are you a dancer?” she asks.
“Do I look like one?” I say. Jemma laughs at that. “Are you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She nods enthusiastically. “My mom put me in a dancing school when I was four, after she divorced my dad. I think to distract me but I don’t know what from. I was fine. But I love it.”
At the cavalier mention of the D word, my insides feel like they are falling to my feet. That could also be because I lose balance again.
“What?” she asks after I don’t respond.
“I—I’m sorry.” Why am I stuttering? “I had no idea your parents were divorced.”
“It’s okay.” She shuffles her wheels back and forth on the wood floor and simultaneously smiles at me. “It doesn’t bother me. I get two Christmases!”
I admire her calmness on the subject. Of course a divorce would not affect a young child the same. They’re too young to realize what is happening, and once they get old enough, they’re already used to it. It’s like learning a language. It’s not so easy to understand once your brain is more developed. I wish my own parents got divorced when I was younger so I would not have to carry the emotional burden of it all. Actually, if I’m wishing for things, I wish my parents were able to work out their problems and stay together. But that’s only a fantasy. I hate it. I have accepted it, but I fucking hate it.
“What about your parents?” Jemma asks.
I’d like to say happily married. “They’re getting divorced too.”
“Oh!” she exclaims. “You’re like me!”
I manage a small smile, but it’s genuine. I envy her positivity.
As I’m lost in thought, Cameron rams into me and squeezes me from behind. I don’t know how he does, but he lifts my feet off the ground without going unsteady. I love a man with skills.
Over the speakers, an old Justin Bieber song blasts, and the majority of the kids around me start cheering. I haven’t heard his songs since grade school. I hated this song, yet I can still recall every word. Unlike all the ten-year-olds, I sing along in my head and don’t scream them. As Jemma, Cameron, and I start moving at a steady pace, I find myself swaying slightly to the music.
The chorus hits, and Jemma belts out every word and lightly pushes me to sing aloud. I shake my head.
Cameron spins to face me and begins to propel himself backward. “Oh my God.”
I look up to him and reply. “What?’
Cameron cracks a smile. “Tell me you were not just mouthing the lyrics to this lame-ass song.”
“Okay, easy because I wasn’t.”
“You were though.”
Crap. I guess my mind-singing wasn’t completely in my mind.“Shut up. It’s not because I like it. I just know all the words.” He gives me an accusing expression that tells me he thinks I’m lying. So what if I am? Maybe I did used to like this song. Is that so bad?
After about thirty minutes I’m exhausted and hungry. Cameron accompanies me at an empty table. He snags us both a slice of pizza and cups of soda. “We need to talk about your Justin Bieber obsession.”
I snort. “Shut up.”
Cameron combs a hand through his hair, then crosses his arms over the table. “Sorry, I suck. This…this can’t technically count as a date.”
“Ask me an hour and a half ago I’d agree. But this is fun, and I didn’t even break my leg.”
Cameron nods and licks his lips. “That”s all that really matters on a date. Screw the guy. Just make sure you don’t break your leg.”
I laugh, taking his hands. “I also had an insightful discussion with your cousin.”
He raises his brows. “Oh? Care to share?”
I shrug, and he juts out his lower lip. I stretch my legs under the table and hug his calf with both of mine and then there we are. Intertwined under the table. “As long as this night ends with a kiss, then it will be perfect,” I say just above a whisper.
Cameron squeezes my hand. “It’ll end with much more than that.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “You’re gonna buy me ice cream.”