Oh, man. If you could have seen your face when Geraldine broke out the Snickers salad. I almost fucking peed myself. That whole dinner was hilarious. Then she allows herself to laugh fully, her smile wide and her whole body shaking.
When someone laughs so uproariously, I can’t help but smile too. Besides, it’s better than the angry silence.
When she’s finally done and wiping the corners of her eyes, I ask, Is Snickers salad an actual thing?
She chortles again. Of course. Did you think that Geraldine was pranking you?
Well, sometimes older people kind of lose touch. My grandmother had some mini-marshmallows in her cupboard that were seven years old. We only found out when she served them toasted on sweet potatoes and they were hard as rock. Expiration dates are only a suggestion, she kept saying. Yes, Grandma, but that’s when it’s a few weeks over, not a few years over.
Cleo widens her eyes in mock-shock. Oh my god, mini-marshmallows? I’m surprised you didn’t burn her at the stake for serving fake foods. Why are you so picky about food, anyway?
I’m not picky. I’m an athlete, and I fuel myself accordingly. From what I’ve seen, Cleo eats whatever the hell she wants and relies on her natural metabolism. Half the guys on the team do the same. That’s fine now, but as they get older, it’ll be a challenge.
Oh, one of those religiously clean eaters. Well, I’m also an athlete, but I enjoy life.
You liked everything we ate tonight? I ask skeptically. Dinner still sits like a brick in my stomach.
Of course. Geraldine’s food reminds me of home; the things that my mom, my aunts, and my grandma cook. Everyone around here knows these dishes. She flushes, like she realizes she’s revealed too much. In a colder tone, she asks, Where are you from, anyway?
Vancouver.
Oh, the West Coast. So, like the California of Canada, right?
Sort of. From what I’ve seen, California is pretty diverse from top to bottom. But she means the whole crunchy granola, holistic, woo-woo stereotype. But you should stop trying to slot me into a box.
She actually growls, sounding like a shelter dog. Are you back to calling me a racist again?
No. But I can tell what you’re doing. You want me to be some two-dimensional figure so you can continue to dislike me.
Cleo seems pretty stubborn, but she does pause to consider what I’ve said. Then she scowls. Wait, do you mean that once I get to really know you, I’ll find you so irresistible that I’ll like you? Because that is total bullshit.
All I’m suggesting is that you dislike the real me, rather than some fictional figure you’ve built up. The logic is convoluted, but it’s better to be hated because of my own personal defects than because of whatever Jordan told her.
She scoffs. What about you? You hate me, and you don’t even know me either.
I glance at her as I turn onto the road back to St. Viola.
I don’t hate you.
My feelings about Cleo are complex. Certainly, I didn’t like her when I thought she was like her brother. But now… I find her intriguing. I’ve been spending too much time reliving everything with Lana; both the abrupt breakup and the fake social media stuff. But when I’m with Cleo, I forget about all that bullshit. Her feisty unpredictability is a complete distraction.
You don’t? Cleo seems thrown by my lack of animosity. Why not?
I chuckle. You want me to hate you? Sorry, I’m not giving you an easy out.
Then I turn to face her. There’s a moment when we look at each other warmly, almost like we’re friends. But Cleo quickly swallows her smile. That’s the way things seem to go between us: one step forward, and two back.
Now it’s my turn to extend an olive branch. I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have asked if you disliked me because of my race. You did nothing to deserve that.
Oh. Cleo sounds surprised. There’s a long silence as we drive along the empty road. The headlights cut through the darkness.
Well, thanks, she finally says. I appreciate that.
More silence follows, so I try to lighten the mood. So, now I have to go to your hockey game?
She beams. Yes, and I will be reminding you. Maybe seeing how awesome I am will convince Marjorie that she should invest in the women’s program.
I hide my smile. Cleo’s confidence is astounding. Yet another way that she’s refreshingly original.
