299 Days #3
“Oh, um, yeah, I’m totally okay talking about her.
Sarah was her name, and she was amazing…
and terrible, you know. She was the best person in the whole world and also, like, the meanest person ever.
She never went to therapy or anything, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I think she was bipolar.
One of my less traumatizing memories that perfectly explains her personality: In, like, fifth grade, we were at the grocery store…
and sometimes she would get hit with these manic urges to spend money.
She’d say, ‘Get whatever you want, sis!’ She called me ‘sis’ ’cause she was only seventeen years older than me and thought we were more like sisters. ”
“Wow.”
“Yep…so I picked out one of those big bouncy balls from the ball bin and we bounced it around as we shopped; sometimes she could be so fun.” Rhea smiled at the memory, and Danny did too.
“But I accidentally hit a Wonder Bread display and bread flew everywhere—so people were staring at us and she just stormed outside…and drove away.”
“Wait, she left you there?”
“Yeah, I had to walk home.”
Danny was silent for a second, and Rhea wondered if maybe one of her “less traumatizing” memories was still too traumatizing to share on a first date.
Danny broke the silence with earnest eye contact and said, “I’m so sorry that happened. I cannot imagine how scary that must’ve been.”
How was he easier to open up to than all of her many therapists? She wanted to tell him about the time Sarah gave their dog away because Rhea wasn’t taking care of it. But she reminded herself she was not paying him by the hour and instead asked, “Are your parents still alive?”
“Oh, yeah, they live in Long Beach.”
“Then how are you so comfortable talking about death? Very few people have asked me what my mom was like.”
“Oh, well…I was close with my mom’s mom, and when she died…I was pretty weirded out by the way people talked to me at her funeral.”
“No one knew what to say.”
“Exactly. They were so awkward, and I never wanted to be like that, so I, uh, read some books about grieving so I could, you know, just talk about it easier.”
“That’s so…huh, you’re really interesting, Danny.” She stopped herself from adding, I think I’m in love with you.
He took potato buns out of a paper bag and handed one to Rhea.
They ate their crispy hot dogs while watching the last surfer catch their last wave.
Rhea almost moaned at every bite. She had eaten grilled, boiled, and pan-fried hot dogs, but they didn’t come close to this.
The hot dog tasted like childhood, a childhood she had not experienced, but nevertheless, there was a sense of nostalgia in every bite.
As the air grew cooler, she wrapped her wool coat tight around her body and relented; Danny was a genius for telling her to bundle up.
He pulled a box of graham crackers and a chocolate bar out of the bag and held out a marshmallow for Rhea to skewer.
She kept her composure, but her inner child was squealing with delight.
Adult Rhea provided her inner child with a safe home, a stable job, and gorgeous clothes, but it turned out, all Little Rhea wanted was s’mores.
Rhea ate four s’mores before she remembered she was on a date.
Somewhere along the way, she’d learned that for the first few dates, women were supposed to pretend they did not actually require nourishment, but she was two hot dogs and four s’mores too late.
Besides, Danny seemed to consider it a personal victory each time Rhea added more mustard to her hot dog or pulled another marshmallow out of the bag.
“I like camping,” Rhea said as Danny poured more wine into her mug.
“You’re good at it.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m good at receiving camping, anyway. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to build a fire.”
“I’ll teach you.”
They locked eyes at this proposal of some kind of a future; some whisper of tomorrow now existed between them, and Rhea’s pulse quickened.
This casual mention of a forthcoming shared experience unlocked her imagination.
At Tiny’s baby shower, Danny would be the candy on her arm.
At Chichi’s fifth birthday party, her enormous yet tasteful engagement ring would protect her from prying eyes.
And right before her thirty-ninth birthday, her pronounced, expectant belly would be a bottomless source of excited questions.
She saw Danny crouched low in their backyard, teaching their children how to garden. Their family of five would camp all across America. Even Zoe would envy her yoga-bodied husband, earthy children, and perpetual fresh vegetables. She took a deep breath and tried to pace herself.
“So, your parents live in Long Beach? Are you close with them?”
“I’m sorta close with my mom, but my dad’s…pretty much a robot.”
“No human emotions?”
“None. Every interaction with him feels like I’m just entering data into a machine. ‘Yes, I’m healthy. Yes, I’m earning an income. Yes, I’m single.’ It’s like filling out a census. Except the census is always disappointed with what I entered.”
“What does the census want you to enter?”
“Married, like, ten years ago. And children. He’s addicted to grandchildren. He has seven of them, and he doesn’t even enjoy being around them. I think he just likes knowing he has them.”
“Seven? And he wants more?”
“Yeah…but he’s never gonna get them from me…’cause I don’t want kids.” He said this with a slight apology in his tone. “That’s probably awkward to tell you on a first date, but I’m actually glad it came up ’cause I never wanna waste anyone’s time.”
It was as if a rather large wave had rushed in between them, and Danny was suddenly a mile away, speaking to Rhea in a muffled, far-off voice.
She blinked at him and tried to make out what he was saying.
Surely he wasn’t telling her he didn’t want children; this could not be the way the best first date in human history petered to an end.
“I’m sorry, did you say you didn’t want kids?” Rhea asked, interrupting whatever he was saying in his muffled, far-off voice.
“Yeah, I definitely don’t. Why? Do you?”