Chapter 8. Juniper
Juniper
SONG OF THE DAY:
“You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” by Pentatonix
“The snow in Chicago was so thick in November, outside the window looked like the beginning of the world.” This was how Mom used to always tell it.
“I was twenty-eight. I was finishing my PhD and hosting a Friendsgiving. I had spent all week cooking dishes in my little studio apartment, moving around my furniture so I could fit two card tables together to seat eight of my closest people. But the snow—it had other plans. Sure enough, by ten a.m., my friends started to call and cancel. The whole city was shutting down, the snowplow couldn’t even keep up, and the L was stalled in too many places on its icy tracks.
It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it hadn’t been the first time I’d tried to reclaim the holiday.
Just a few months before, I’d gone no contact with my parents, who couldn’t accept that I was queer.
Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday, so I thought that I could just make a new tradition, host my chosen family in my home.
But the weather thwarted that plan, and instead, I faced the holiday alone. ”
“But one of your friends didn’t cancel.” This was when Mama Alice always jumped into the story. “I mean, one of us made it.”
“Yes, well, that was the surprise. There I was, changed back into my holey sweats and a stained Loyola hoodie, curled up on my couch with a plate of stuffing, potatoes, and a turkey leg, ready to binge-watch Gilmore Girls for the millionth time and drown my sadness in a bottle of wine, when the buzzer went off.”
“And there I was!” Mama Alice always said.
“Shivering like hell in my thin coat, a pair of rain boots, jeans, and not a long john in sight. I’d just moved to Chicago from Louisville that summer, and oh boy, I had no idea what I was in for that winter.
Your mom had to help me get the appropriate winter gear, because I was a hot mess. ”
“Yes, but that was the moment,” Mom always used to say, smiling.
“I buzzed you up, and then opened my door and saw you there, looking like a frozen beanpole of a woman, and I wanted to kiss you! We were new friends, but fast ones, and I hadn’t wanted to mess up what we had, but there was no denying we both had little crushes on one another. ”
“If by little you mean the size of the Red River Gorge, then sure.” Mama Alice again. “I was sweet on Mara the instant we met that August at some queer meetup group. But she was wayyyy outta my league.”
“Oh, I was not. You were just so shy. I never thought you’d make a move!”
“Well, that was my move, darlin’. Showing up in a snowstorm when nobody did. I didn’t want you to be alone. I knew how hard it had been with your family, I knew I had to get to you.”
“Oh, you got to me alright. You got right into my heart and stayed there.” Mom always smiled here, but it was the flutter of her long eyelashes that caught my attention as she closed her eyes mid-grin, savoring the memory. “I’ll never forget that day. It was the beginning of everything good.”
Just as the sun slides
into a purple darkness
I pull up outside of Lyric’s apartment building.
I glance around Chloe—making sure
I haven’t missed any trash or crumbs
on the passenger seat.
I gave her a good cleaning before I left
but I don’t want Lyric to think
I’m a slob.
I pull out my phone
and text her:
Here a little early. Ready whenever you are.
I glance up at the large brick building
imagining for a moment
I am here on a real date.
That we have already gotten past
the awkwardness of a first kiss
and instead of skating
we are in her room
sitting close, listening to music.
What does Lyric’s room look like?
Is it as colorful and bold as she is?
Would her parents like me?
Would they invite me to stay for dinner?
I wonder if—
Before I can follow my daydream any further
my phone dings.
Be down in five.
Just getting my grandma settled.
Cool, I type back.
Then I crack open a window
and take a deep breath.
The night is overcast
and deliciously cold
and I know this is going to sound weird:
but I can smell the snow
before it’s even started to fall
my nose tingling with an earthy
metallic scent.
I check my teeth in the mirror
and smooth a few of my curls
into place
under my beanie.
I sniff my pits for the thousandth time
worried that I’ve sweated through my flannel
but of course, all I get is a whiff
of my favorite citrus perfume.
I can’t seem to cool my body down.
Everything in me radiating
with heat
and a sense of adventure
the unknown.
Chill out, I say.
This is not a date, remember?
Get your shit together.
I take a final deep breath
and lean back in the driver’s seat
in what I hope is a casual
non-date kinda way.
But then I turn my head
and see Lyric
walking toward me.
She’s got a pair of teal, faux fur earmuffs
a long-sleeved, sleek black bodysuit-snowsuit situation
that shows off all her curves
a pair of black snow boots, and a faux fur vest
that matches her earmuffs.
She’s carrying a tripod, camera bag
and some other influencer gadgets.
How she manages to make winter fashion
look so good
is some kind of
hot-girl sorcery.
My mouth hangs open for a second
until I snap it shut
remembering to
hop out and open the passenger door for her.
Lyric laughs at me.
Are you for real?
What? I say.
The whole door thing.
I could have got it on my own.
You had your hands full
and, well, this is just me.
I’m gonna open doors for you, OK.
Fake dating or not.
She’s frozen for a moment
considering what I’ve said
eyeing me suspiciously
like this is a trick or
or a joke.
Nobody’s ever opened
a door for you?
Like—someone you dated?
I try again.
Nah. But from now on
I can open my own doors.
Thanks.
With that, Lyric hops into Chloe
and slams the door shut.
I hustle around to the driver’s side
and buckle in
then glance over at Lyric as I start the car.
You look nice, I say.
As do you, Lyric says, giving me a cool
but approving nod.
This whole vibe is exactly what will
sell us
as a couple,
she continues.
You with that homey, navy blue flannel
and those—what are those?
Forestry boots?
Lyric says, pointing down at my
gray-and-tan Sorel Explorers.
Um—no, these are just snow boots
I think. No lumberjack or jill
activities for me tonight.
That was last weekend
when we cut down our Christmas tree.
I’m hoping to get a laugh
but Lyric is quiet as she
types something out
on her phone.
Do you have your tree up yet?
I try again, changing the subject.
Nah, she says, finally.
We don’t usually put up a lot of
decorations.
Last year we just got a big poinsettia
from Meijer and added some lights.
Oh. Cool, I say, trying to imagine
where all the presents go.
Lyric clears her throat.
So, look, she begins.
For tonight’s sponsored content
we are trying to sell this new highlighter
and show off my “cold girl” makeup look.
We’ll need some footage
of us on the ice
skating and looking smitten with each other
and a cute still photo of us
clinking mugs of hot chocolates
off the ice
where I can really
zoom in
on the product
on my cheeks and nose.
I brought my tripod, clicker, and selfie stick
—so we should be good to go.
All in all, I think we can get this done in an hour.
I’ve got a ton of homework to catch up on
so the earlier we wrap, the better.
Sound good?
Yeah—I understood a lot of those words individually
but as a whole, I’m lost.
I pull into a parking spot by the rink
and turn to face Lyric.
Maybe if I can get some eye contact
this will all start to feel
less forced and awkward.
What the hell is a “cold girl” look?
Lyric rolls her eyes—
as she gathers up her gear
and as instructed
I don’t rush
to open her door for her.
Her attitude is starting
to piss me off.
How am I supposed to know
any of this shit?
I’m not the makeup/content expert here.
I get out of the car
and trail behind her
as we make our way toward the rink.
It’s just this trend on BeautyStarz right now,
she continues,
all the makeup girls, gays, and theys
are doing it.
You use like a cool-toned blush
and an icy, cool highlighter
to make your face look windblown
and frosty.
It’s definitely more of a white-girl trend
but some of us
are also hopping on
just to prove our skin looks good
with cool-toned shades
as well as warm.
Oh. OK. Uh-huh, I say.
I sneak a glance at Lyric again
as we get in line for the rink.
She does indeed have an icy blue shimmer
in the corners of her eyes
her cheeks and nose dusted with a
cool glow of bubble-gum pink
her lips stained a faint rose color.
The look is soft and sexy—
so much so that I barely register
Lyric taking out her wallet
to pay for her entry fee and skate rental.
No! I yell
jumping in front of her.
I got this. Please.
My idea. My treat.
Absolutely not.
Lyric pushes back in front of me
and hands over a wad of cash.
I’ll pay for it on my own.
And you can pay for your own.
It keeps things easy.
Then she stomps ahead
to a set of benches
to suit up.
I don’t know what it says about the tone of tonight
or the way things are going
but the moment
Lyric and I step out onto the rink together
the speakers start to blare
You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch!
And all my expectations for the evening
sink into the depths of my stomach.
With Lyric’s camera and tripod setup
outside one end of the rink
we attempt to skate, hand in hand
toward it, like we’re a couple
on a cute date
enjoying ourselves
but while I’m at least able to
maintain a steady, albeit moderate pace over the ice
Lyric—well
Lyric sort of shuffles along
gripping my hand
for dear life.
When we play back the footage
we look like two deeply uncoordinated chickens
on ice
not a single ounce of the chemistry we had
last weekend present.
Maybe we should try
some of those off-ice
hot chocolate shots?
I say, after our tenth time
trying to make it across the rink.
I’m starting to feel—
people are staring.
Just one more time!
Lyric barks, gripping the side of the rink.
Here—help me—
Lyric underestimates
how far away my hands are
as she pushes away from the siding
and promptly falls on her ass.
Shit-balls, this is hard! she yells
the look on her face
one of utter contempt and chaos
as she flops around
earmuffs askew
braids in her eyes.
Before I can stop myself
I’m belly laughing.
It’s not funny,
Lyric says, scowling.
This is tragic!
This only makes me laugh harder.
Juniper, for real
help me up!
If we don’t get this content
we don’t get paid, OK?
I know that,
I say, swallowing my laughter
giving her my arm to lean on
as she pulls herself upright.
But we tried—
and look, we can try again another day.
The money can wait, right?
I mean, it would help me
with some stuff I need
but it’s not urgent.
Something like malice
flashes over Lyric’s face.
She meets my eyes
as she pulls her hair back
and adjusts her earmuffs.
You know what—nah
we can just forget about this
whole deal. It’s not gonna work.
I’ll just do this on my own,
she starts.
If you don’t need the money
good for you. How nice.
For some of us though
this is urgent.
Maybe this is just silly makeup
and fun times to you
but to me, this is a job—
a career starter.
I want to do this well and right.
So fuck you if you don’t
want in—I don’t need you or—
Whoa!
Hey—Lyric, slow down.
Hold on a minute.
We are off the ice now
and Lyric is shoving things
into her bag.
I hobble over to her
still in my skates
and sit down next to her.
I’ve obviously missed something here,
I say.
Can we start again?
Help me understand
what just happened?
Lyric is shaking
her face lit up with fire
her whole body
taut and tense.
I do need this money, I continue,
but you’re right.
This is not my job.
I get that, and I’m sorry if
I offended you.
But you have to admit
tonight has been awkward.
I just thought maybe starting fresh
another day—might help.
That’s all.
Lyric’s eyes are closed
and she’s taking deep, long breaths.
We sit in silence for a beat
and I watch as her shoulders lower.
Her fists unclench.
When she finally looks at me
all the rage is gone from her eyes.
Instead I see something else:
heaviness.
Look—I may have overreacted,
she says. I’ve got a lot going on right now.
I think I’m just tired.
Worked late yesterday
and my head is all foggy.
Let’s just call it a night.
We can reevaluate
this whole thing tomorrow.
Do you at least want to get some hot cocoa?
My treat? I try.
No, thanks,
Lyric says, standing up fast.
Can you just take me home
please?
I study her face—
lower lip bitten bloody, eyes glazed over.
I’ve said all the wrong things
and she’s totally shut down.
Maybe
we’re too different after all
too far away
from one another’s realities.
Sure. Let’s go.
Lemme just
get these off.
I lean over to remove
my skates hiding
the disappointment on my face.
Thanks,
Lyric says
already walking
away from me
toward the exit.
And those are the last words
we speak to one another.
The drive back to her apartment is
silent and full of ice.