CHAPTER 13 #2
There’s a few DVDs in the house but mostly VHS tapes and nothing released after 2004. We end up choosing Never Been Kissed.
‘I didn’t have you pegged as a rom-com guy,’ I say.
‘I’m not. I just think Drew Barrymore’s really hot.
’ He walks in carrying the half-block of chocolate we didn’t use earlier on the platter.
He offers it to me and sits down on the brown corduroy two-seater.
It’s very small, so we’re sitting thigh to thigh (his are now covered in trackies, a change I note with mixed feelings), feet up on the coffee table in front.
I throw the blanket over his legs and press play.
The thumps are quieter here and the moans don’t penetrate (as it were), but I turn the volume up a bit anyway.
If I kill the vibe, fuck it. They killed my innocence.
Little by little, the chocolate disappears and we sink further into the couch. If I’m leaning a bit into Arthur’s side, it’s just because the couch sags in the middle: an accident of physics.
In the scene where Drew is high at the club, Arthur asks, ‘How’s it all going with your work friends?’
In my guilty silence, it seems like the thumping becomes louder.
‘Well?’ he presses.
‘So, I might have stuffed it up,’ I admit.
‘How?’
‘Bee and I had a discussion a few weeks ago, and I came to the conclusion that in focusing on my new friends, I was neglecting her and not acting like a good friend, so I had to reprioritise a bit.’
The disappointment that darkens his face, though expected, is my new least favourite thing. It’s also marked with a tinge of scepticism. ‘You came to this conclusion, then? All on your own?’
‘Well, no,’ I say. ‘Bee communicated how she was feeling; I decided that her feelings were valid and acted accordingly.’
‘And that acting involved ghosting all your new friends and focusing all your attention on Bianca? Do I have that right?’
More or less. ‘I wouldn’t say ghosted.’
‘Then text them right now.’ He’s calling my bluff. He knows I can’t do that without risking extreme embarrassment. He underestimates my skills at the game of chicken.
‘I will,’ I say, and his face says shock.
I make a group chat with Nicole and Reg.
Hey guys!
Too heteronormative.
Team!
CRINGE. How does one sound normal via text?
Hey!
That’ll do. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Arthur smirking with each backspace.
Hey! How are you both going? There’s no events on this Friday—would you be keen on some drinks? Totally fine if you’ve already got something on. I know Fridays fill up quickly. Or if you just want to stay in. Sorry, this text is way too long.
Oh God, send before I do anything stupid.
‘That text is way too long,’ Arthur says. Ignore him.
The three dots of doom. Disappear. Reappear. But I have to look super chill and cool in front of Arthur, so I should probably just lock my phone. The sound is on, it’ll ding when I get a text.
Stop checking the lock screen, Gertie.
Ding!
I open my phone too eagerly, which gives away the whole game.
Are you drunk?
That’s Nicole.
Hmm, probably not
Reg’s turn.
Maybe she had a fight with The Manager and
needs the backup friends.
Ouch.
‘Do you think I’m still drunk?’ I ask. Arthur gets up and goes to our room. Comes back with a nauseated look on his face, suggesting a stamina in William I hadn’t anticipated, and holds out a portable breathalyser.
No, my mate’s portable breatho says I’m down to 0.03
She has friends other than Bianca?
How come they didn’t get ghosted? Are they
more special than us?
I can feel the hurt behind Nicole’s snark.
I’m sorry. Without qualifications. You were both so welcoming and then I just completely dropped the ball. If you’re willing to give me another chance, I won’t screw it up this time.
‘What’s taking so long?’ Arthur’s trying to read over my shoulder. I can feel his breath on my neck, and I shiver.
‘Shush, we both know I’m grovelling.’
The dots again.
What do you think, Reg?
The poor girl’s new to having friends (plural).
We can probably cut her some slack.
I smile, even though I know I’m not living this down for a while. If they’re shit-talking me, they’re talking to me. It’s like a sign of affection. (That’s possibly quite a fucked-up viewpoint.)
Yeah, she never had to juggle more than one
before.
Harsh, Nicole. But completely fair.
As it happens, Gertie, drinks in Collingwood
already booked for Friday at 6.30. Be there.
I know I’m smiling stupidly at my phone. It’s confirmed when Arthur says, ‘All fixed?’
‘Yep. I just need to get a bit better at having more than one friend.’
‘Excuse me. Two friends.’ Then he points at the TV. ‘Now put your phone down, shut up and watch the movie. The sex-ed scene is my favourite.’
‘Of course it is.’
When Drew is waiting on the pitcher’s mound, I break the silence again. It’s proper silence now—no rogue thuds and creaks from down the hall.
‘I want that.’ I point at the TV.
‘You want your teacher to lust after you even though you’re a student but it’s okay because you’re actually in your twenties and he must have somehow sensed that, and didn’t he have a girlfriend somewhere oh well it all worked out fine and he’s definitely not a cheating predator?
’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Actually, this movie is pretty messed up.’
‘It is, but that’s not what I meant.’
He pauses. ‘You have been kissed, right? I feel like we’ve discussed previous boyfriends, so if you haven’t been kissed, I think I might have identified the whole problem.’
‘Your sassiness does you no credit.’
‘We both know that’s not true. Now get to the point; Drew’s clock is counting down.’
‘I dunno. Just that whole thing when a man grabs your face and just kisses you. Like really kisses you.’ The creepy teacher does just that. ‘It looks really hot. Like, I reckon you can feel that all the way to your toes.’
‘Hmm,’ he says, his focus not on me but on the movie pash.
‘Have you ever been kissed like that?’
‘I’m not sure anyone has. I think it’s just movie magic.’
‘Surely that’s not true.’
He doesn’t say anything again. Which is weird. It’s unlike Arthur not to be ready with a retort in a way that makes conversation with him a bit of a challenge—not like a chore challenge but like a want-to-put-my-best-foot-forward-at-all-times challenge.
Then I feel his hand on my cheek.
He’s turning my face towards his.
When my face has turned, his is much closer to it than it had been a moment before.
Then his lips are on mine. Although, that’s not entirely accurate. It kind of feels like our teeth clash together. I take stock for a moment, and it doesn’t sound or feel like anything has cracked. The fact that I have the presence of mind to take stock says a lot.
He is holding my head against his and moving his mouth over mine. He must have gone to the William School of Kissing because there is way more tongue and saliva than I find appealing.
In short: not a good kiss.
After several moments, he lets me go. Our faces are still very close to one another. He has saliva—mine? His?—all around his mouth. His eyes look dazed.
Neither of us speaks. This lasts longer than the kiss.
Then he says, ‘That was atrocious!’
A sigh of relief. ‘Completely!’
‘It was so hard to go in for the kill and still control my technique. For a second I thought I’d cracked your front teeth.’
‘And I guess the actors know that it’s coming and are just pretending to be surprised, so they can coordinate a bit more. I felt like I was two steps behind the whole time.’
He looks pensive now. ‘They were using a lot of tongue in the movie, so I gave it a crack, but maybe it’s the kind of thing that only looks sexy? Do you think Drew was gagging through that whole thing?’
‘I don’t think what we did even looked sexy.’
He tilts his head in acknowledgment. ‘Maybe there’s a special way of making kissing look sexy that they teach in acting school.’
‘What, like Pashing 101?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Go message the VCA when we get back to town and see if we can get in on that action. You know, for research purposes.’
‘Of course.’
We agree that the other two must have stopped shagging by now, so we turn off all the lights and return to bed. Arthur keeps his trackies on, and as he turns off the light, we’re both facing the wall.
There’s something about the beach in winter. Grey fluffy skies meet deep blue choppy water that crashes onto sand hardened by the night’s rain. It reminds me of the many, many books I have read where an idyllic beachside town is rocked by the discovery of a body.
I like it.
Having braved the spiderwebbed brambles, I find a bed of jagged rocks and take careful steps across them to reach the sand. My sunken footprints are a reminder that I’m really here.
When I woke up, the bed next to me was empty.
It’s like he took a premature walk of shame. In a way, I appreciate that we have put off the awkward next-morning conversation. In another way, it could be argued that he has kicked the can down the road, and said conversation might be in view of others when it occurs.
In yet another way, two of us can play at this game, and I have gone for my beach walk so he can’t pounce on me at the house when I least expect it.
Either or any way, he has once again left me wildly overthinking something (probably) innocuous. But at least a kiss is a tangible thing. No one would be making fun of me for obsessing over a kiss. That’s a totally normal thing to do.
Why did he kiss me?
Did it sound like I was begging for it?
Oh, God. Was I? Did I all but plead for a smooch? How embarrassing.
But if I was, why did he give in?