“Grand idea then,” he answers tightly. It takes me aback for a second. I kind of assumed he would be a bit more chipper on the fact that I’m following his policy. Instead, his eyes lower and his face drops for a second.
But I move us along as I brush my hair all to one side over the front of my shoulder. “Uh, how was the weekend with your sister?”
“Yeah, good as always. Did the whole park thing, baby swings, then hit up Foxy Rox for a coffee, and apparently babyccinos are a thing.”
I laugh, but it’s mostly to cover up the fact that I feel flustered from the imagery in my head. “Yeah, I’ve heard something about those. Foxy Rox has a whole menu for kids’ and puppies’ drinking and snacking needs. I mean, not that a human child is the same as a puppy or a puppy is the same as a human. It’s more like treats made out of oats and low sugar. For the dog, of course. Treats are for dogs and snacks are forkids. And pupcups are just pure whipped cream, I think, which pretty much defeats the whole low-sugar thing.” I’m rambling a mile a minute.
Watching me this way doesn’t seem to deter his smile. “Thank you for the explanation of biology and menu items.”
My face turns crimson because I’m aware that I’m twisting my words, all because Keats causes knots inside of me, but I hate to admit that. “Uhm, I just wanted to apologize since you are here, and now I have, which means I can conquer a snack plate of veggies and dip with a few cookies on the side.”
I don’t even let him answer me because I scurry away, leaving him to watch me and the sway that I consciously do. Is he as lost in his thoughts as I am in my own? I’m trying to digest the shift in the air because I’m not sure what just happened. We’re in neutral territory, right? Our hostile moments are over, no? He’s pulling me in, and that simply can’t be possible.
The thingabout late-afternoon BBQ graduation parties is that the teenagers tend to leave after dinner to check out the next party on their schedule of friends heading to their next life chapter. It also means that the adults stay behind and continue to drink. Moving on from beer and wine, the parents, or rather, the mother of the graduate, is now mixing margaritas and letting a little loose.
A few of us keep going on this train. Kelly and Greg are cool. I’m confident Greg will break out his guitar at some point and jam to a classic alternative song.
With the hanging lights on and a buzz flowing throughme, I’m going to agree that Kelly is excellent at whipping up an alcoholic beverage.
“I should head out. I know Kelly and Greg had their son young, but it kind of unnerves me to see two parents around our age with a teenager. Suddenly, I feel old,” Oliver remarks as he downs his last sip of, well, I’m not sure what.
We’re sitting in a row on the bench, with Keats on his other side.
I glance down to my cup and see that I’m running dry, too. “It’s kind of fun. Let them be in their element. I don’t often see them get a chance to let loose.”
“Because they’re domesticated,” Keats notes with distaste.
“Ugh, now I remember why I don’t like you. What a judgmental ass.”
Keats pops his head out to peer around Oliver. “Really? You want to go down this route? We were doing so well.”
Oliver groans, aggravated. “You two are like children who need a timeout.”
“Sorry if Mr. Uptight needs to be called out. I bet he even tattles on Ryan when he throws parties when his parents are out of town.” Keats doesn’t answer but adjusts his neck as he stiffens. “Are you kidding me? You do, don’t you? You need to loosen up.”
Oliver’s eyes turn to saucers, and he stands at the same time. “That’s my cue to head on home.”
Keats and I join him on the departure. “Don’t even tell me to relax or I swear to God there will be consequences.” The grit in his tone makes it clear the true meaning of his dirty words.
“That’s it. I’m saying goodbye and leaving you two to work out your aggression issues, because I sure as hell don’t want to be a witness.”
Keats and I follow Oliver but not without throwing one another glares. We all bid farewell to the hosts after repeating our congratulations and make our way to the street. Oliver waves us off before he walks down the street to his house. He’s in no mood for further conversation.
“You are so intolerable. What was that? Consequences. Ooh.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “Let’s just let anyone in earshot hear you confirm that you have control issues when your dick wants to play.”
Now I’m 100% confident that frozen margarita was a little strong.
“What a vulgar little demon you are.” He crosses his arms.
I grumble in exhaustion. “We are so fucking immature around one another,” I point out.
“Oh, I agree. Our game of cat and mouse is anything but mature. But it makes me feel rejuvenated and less uptight, as you call it.”
My brows raise in astonishment at his admission. I roll my shoulder back and lose my words because we seem unusually aligned. “Well…good. I guess we are on the same page there.”
The air grows silent as we both realize that fact.
Under the streetlight we seem to be having another one our traditional conversations. Only when my head tilts to the side do I realize that neither one of us have moved as we stand by our mailboxes. The center of our universe.
